


Kid, You'll Move Mountains

by aroceu



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Harvard Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 105,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroceu/pseuds/aroceu
Summary: When everyone still has flip phones and Mark doesn't have a best friend with $300,000 in his bank account, he works at Widener Library. He does headcounts, checks in books, tries to get away with coding for thefacebook, and eats lunch at the cafe with Erica Albright. Life is not much different when he meets Eduardo - but it is better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So this was my NaNoWriMo 2015, and I'm finally getting it polished up for posting. I actually really like it (despite my attempts to beat it into submission), and I hope you do too!
> 
> It started out as a love letter to my working at my own old university's library, and spiraled from there. I verily _tried_ to be as precise to Harvard (and Widener, except for the nonexistent cafe) as possible, but if you're a Harvard student and reading this for some reason and spy something inaccurate, just... let it happen. I am not known for my precision. I am, however, somehow known for posting TSN fic in 2017, so let's assess our priorities accordingly.
> 
> I won't make this A/N as long as this fic, so a few last things: this fic has: an indulgent amount of references to the actual movie, an indulgent amount of sex and fluff, and also a decent amount of discussion of food and mealtimes because I like to keep them well-nourished, or at least believably so. Also, Mark's job is totally as boring as it sounds. And Erica kind of became Andrew-the-rl!designer-who-must-not-be-named.
> 
> Disclaimer that I was never a psych major, business major, design major, ~~CS major~~ , or journalism major. I was however, for a period time, an English major.
> 
>  **ETA:** I'm a CS major now lmao  
> 

_It's opener there_  
_in the wide open air._

 _Out there things can happen_  
_and frequently do_  
_to people as brainy_  
_and footsy as you._

It is much too late—or early, depending on how you looked at it—for Mark to be blinking, much less to care about blinking. His eyes feel like peeled grapes, naked and ugly when exposed, which is not exactly an inaccurate description of his physical appearance, at least according to his sisters and those guys in the high school locker room who wouldn't really compliment another guy's body, anyway. It doesn't matter to him, though, in the way that most teenage boys would hit the gym almost every day until their muscles were bigger than their brain. Mark finds the gym to be a waste of time, and he'd rather have his brain bigger than the little flabby parts of his arms, thank you very much.

It is a slow day at work, only qualified in the way that it's Tuesday morning, 7:55 am, and Mark has underestimated himself this semester (yet again) by taking a four-hour long morning shift. Four hours doesn't  _sound_  so long when you're marking down all your free time during the week for work availability and sending convincing emails to your supervisor every semester about how twenty hours is  _not_  too much, Mr. Summers, yes, I'm well-aware that that's the maximum amount I'm allowed to work in a week and really, I'm only taking fourteen semester hours (again.)

Mark hasn't particularly mastered the art of persuasive emails, though, so he's still stuck at eighteen hours a week. Which is a lot, in all honesty, but being two hours short isn't that much, even though he could be spending that time making money; in the scheme of things, two hours doesn't amount to much. Unless, of course, he's been sitting at the desk at ass o'clock in the morning and hasn't slept in some amount of time (he doesn't want to think about it) and Mark is essentially a zombie on payroll.

Dustin is really not helping matters, with the  _click click clicking_  he has going on at his computer. Mark wishes he had the effort to tell him to stop it, or at least stop clicking so goddamn hard like he's actually trying to give Mark a headache. Dustin's probably playing the same flash game he had gotten hooked on at the end of last week, which Mark had tried for all of thirty minutes before yet again deciding it was a waste of time.

Mark envies Dustin and his simple-mindedness.

The computer would be better entertainment if he had something to do. Mark had actually accomplished a good chunk of CourseMatch's programming when working the desk in the spring, but that had also been accompanied with a long lecture in the back and multiple threats of probation, because you're at  _work_ , Mark, your priority is to your patrons. Mark can remember with vague embarrassment and annoyance at the number of times last spring he'd told patrons, "Give me ten minutes," because he was in the middle of a string or needed to finish his thought at the moment.

There had been complaints, then. Apparently.

The computers are kind of ugly, the colorful iMacs that remind Mark of what people think that robots in the future must look like. The clock in the upper right hand corner ticks to 8:00. Mark's gaze, which has been fixed on it for quite some time, flickers from the computer to the empty staircases where patrons and otherwise come in. It's been five minutes. He wants to kill himself.

Next to him, Dustin lets out a whoop and bounces in his chair. "Beat it!" he says, grinning at Mark. The black of the Newgrounds website on his screen is oddly soothing for Mark's aching eyes.

Mark blinks for what feels like the first time in eternity. "Congratulations," he says, deadpan.

Dustin clutches his heart dramatically. And  _how_  he has so much energy early in the morning is beyond Mark, but he supposes that there are things other people have to make up for in lack of genius. "Your unwavering support is appreciated, Mark," he says solemnly. Then he cackles and clicks on a thumbnail for another game.

Mark withholds a groan and stares at the clock again. 8:01. It's his turn to do head counts for this hour, which on top of checking in gross books from preservation--and the fucking books for the  _music library_ \--is one of is least favorite jobs to do, ever. Dustin gets to continue to sit on his ass and blow up balloons or whatever it is he does while Mark has to walk around and  _look_  at people. On the bright side, the people he head counts tend to regard him suspiciously and he's allowed to glare at them in response. Mark does like that.

He slides out of his chair, knees practically buckling as soon as his feet hit the marble floor. His chair wheels behind him and he ignores it, grabbing the tablet off the back counter, and a crimson lanyard that says  _STUDENT WORKER_  with the little logo for Widener Library in the corner. Dustin calls, "Don't get your brain eaten!" as Mark leaves. Mark thinks, not if I eat their brains first.

Admittedly, doing head counts in the reading room isn't too bad, after that one time when they'd been assigned to count the number of people on every damn floor of the library, including the Pusey stacks. It was as bad as Mark remembers it—worse, really, there are six fucking levels to this building, never mind the vast underground—but at least he'd got to interrupt some assholes trying to get it on in the English lit section. Mark had been the envy of everyone at work moreso than usual for weeks, and he'd only had to tell Dustin.

Still, a lot of times he'd rather go back to that, because today most people are either sleeping or staring emptily at their computer screens--not studying (option one on the headcount tablet) or socializing (the only other option.) Mark stares at one girl with her eyes closed at her computer, head propped up on her elbow. He hits  _1_ , then  _Reading Room_  (which is literally the only option for locations, Mark hates it, it's too much extra work for his fingers), then  _socializing_. He moves on.

The only good thing about doing headcounts, working in the mornings, and doing headcounts in the mornings, is the strange feeling of kinship at seeing so many grad students looking dead to the world. Mark isn't a grad student—he'd probably never step into this building if he didn't work here—but when he sees a kid fall right asleep into his book—he literally sees it, the kid just slumps forward onto the desk—he snorts a little, but he also thinks, yeah, me too.

There's only one person in this gigantic hall who doesn't look like he wants to keel over and die, and Mark is approaching him through the rows of lamps and tables. He's wearing a three-piece suit which makes Mark do a double take, because no one except for too old adults who turn their nose up at Harvard students wear suits at eight in the morning—most of the time he sees people in pajamas, or worn sweatpants, and once, someone naked (though that had been the English lit scandal incident.) He—suit guy, he doesn't look like an adult. His cheeks are rosy, and his eyes are smooth and unwrinkled, big and open over his book. One of his hands is sifting through his hair, in an absentminded way that makes his big hair look even bigger.

Mark hits  _1_  and idly thinks that if suit guy keeps doing that, his hair will be big enough to count as another person. He hits  _Reading Room_  on the tablet and looks up again.

Suit guy has lifted up his own head to look at Mark, and he's smiling. It catches Mark off-guard; people usually don't smile at him, especially if they don't know him. Flustered, Mark tries to remember if he's supposed to know this guy: he's vaguely familiar, but in the way that when you're catering to patrons every day of the week, faces start to blend together and everyone begins looking familiar. But he can't think of any other reason this guy would be smiling at him. Maybe he has a class with him.

Mark jerks his chin up in a sharp nod, and taps  _studying_  on the tablet. The guy watches him as Mark moves on, and if Mark had to guess, he's probably still smiling. He probably expected Mark to say hi, or something. Mark tries to ignore the heat at his back, though it follows him as he goes through the rest of the aisles in the reading room. When he glances back—once—the guy isn't looking at him anymore. But the back of Mark's neck still prickles.

When he's done, he goes back out through one of the double doors and returns to the desk. As he slides the tablet back on the counter, Dustin asks, "How's it looking?" He doesn't turn around from his computer.

"Fifty people," says Mark, pushing his chair back to the desk and climbing on it.

Dustin whistles lowly. "That's a lot for a Tuesday morning."

Mark shrugs. "It's nearly finals week. People are probably trying to tell themselves that they won't cram yet." Mark has no illusions about his own procrastination; he doesn't plan on even looking at the emails from his art history teacher until the weekend before his actual final, at the very least. It's already bad enough facing the glares from his instructor and being called on at least once a class, unprompted, and the snickers that fill the room when Mark responds, bored every time, "I don't know."

Mark thinks back to that suit kid and wonders if he's in Mark's art history class. Maybe that's how he knows him. A kid wearing a three-piece suit doesn't seem like the type to take art history, much less enjoy it; but what does Mark know, anyway.

Dustin says, "Dude, anyone who says they never procrastinated in college is lying," and Mark nods in agreement. He usually doesn't like it when his coworkers try to make conversation with him at work, but Dustin is low pressure and not annoying for Mark to be talked at. It's part of why he began to choose morning shifts, along with the fact that he's usually up this stupidly early in the morning, too.

Dustin's been here since five—he always takes night classes, he told Mark once—so he gets off at nine o'clock with a clap on the back. "You'll make it through this, Mark," he says, laughing as he hoists his backpack up from the ground.

Mark grunts and Dustin chuckles. Saluting, he makes his way past the desk's swinging side door. Mark stares painfully at the computer's clock once more.

Another, more insufferable coworker comes in a couple of minutes later, greeting Mark with a cheery smile and a particularly grating demand on how work been so far. Mark says, "I've been here since six in the morning, how do you think it's been?" The smile that slips off her face is worth the energy it took to speak.

He clicks absently to some flash gaming site, eyelids aching as the dull blue background of the computer changes to black on white, and spots of other unwelcome colors spring to life on the screen. He clicks around and finds a few dumb games to occupy his brain and energy, even though they could be serving other, more useful purposes, if he was in his single in Kirkland. But he's not getting paid seven dollars an hour there, so he's going to have to suffer and pretend to enjoy it.

Between games, his eyes drift up from the computer to stare at the kids who stagger up and down the stairs, not paying him much attention. The doors to his right open and someone else comes out.

It's suit guy, from when Mark had been doing headcounts earlier. Mark is startled, though he doesn't know why he is—it's only been an hour since he's seen the suit guy, and during finals week some kids don't leave the library for thirty-six hours. Suit guy is wearing white earbuds and fiddling with what looks like an iPod, strolling toward the staircase. Mark watches him as he leaves.

Then suit guy glances once over his shoulder—straight at Mark. He as looks surprised as Mark feels when their eyes catch, and his lips lift into a pleased smile. He turns back around and pads down the staircase, Mark staring at his back. Sunlight pours from the large front windows and washes onto the guy, briefly, before he disappears past the banister. The golden catch of his skin stays in Mark's mind's eye long after he leaves.

***

Eventually Mark allows the event to seep from his mind, dawdling on the computer until his shift comes to an end. Getting off work is like stepping into another dimension; Mark doesn't bother bidding the other coworker goodbye when he gets off at ten. He hitches his backpack over his shoulder and makes his way downstairs; he's not hungry, really, but Erica is likely expecting him and he doesn't exactly dread meeting up with her. At the bottom of the right staircase is a pair of double doors, which he goes through, leading to the café.

He spots Erica almost immediately, sitting at a tall table, feet tucked under the rungs of her high chair. She's on her phone, so she doesn't see him; Mark purchases a bagel before joining her at her table, plopping his backpack down on one of the chairs next to her.

Erica looks up, startled but mostly amused. "Good morning to you too," she says, watching as Mark pulls out the second chair and heaves himself onto it.

"Hi," Mark says, disgruntled. He stares at his bagel on his napkin for a moment, trying to adjust to living like a normal human being again, instead of pretending to care about library patrons.

"You put cream cheese on it," Erica says.

Mark looks up. "What?"

"You—" Erica gestures to his bagel. Mark stares at her blankly, but she just sighs and breaks off with a smile. She puts her phone away. "Gonna ignore me again?"

"I don't ignore you," says Mark, even though he's already taking out his laptop. Repressing thinking about thefacebook for four hours has been too much work, but he knows that if he'd spent all his time during work thinking about it, he'd itch to code and scribble ideas down and then get fired in two weeks. He can't have that.

Erica scoffs. "Don't fill out a character evaluation form for yourself, you'd be terrible at it."

She cranes her neck and looks over Mark's shoulder as Mark opens up all the necessary files, anyway.

Thefacebook has been an ongoing project for a few weeks now--the main reason Mark has been spending all of his time picking up random shifts despite his twenty hour limit, trying to scrape up as much money as he can on minimum wage, adding to the limited amount of money his parents have given him and let him use.

And between work and money, he has to sacrifice  _time_  that he could be spending working on thefacebook—for anyone else, a lose-lose situation. But Mark had been called a genius by everyone in his CS classes and his first robotics teacher, and he won't be able to prove their point if he gives up on something that Erica says is killing him.

"This is killing you," Erica says, watching as Mark's fingers fly across the keyboard as soon as the file loads.

Mark ignores her. Erica sighs. "Also, you didn't put cream cheese on your bagel yet," she says.

Mark picks up his bagel with his left hand and stuffs it into his mouth. He takes one bite and it falls into his lap.

Erica snorts and takes out a book.

They sit in companionable silence, Mark coding while Erica studies. Mark's brain runs as fast as it can, despite the lethargy that it begs to take from so much use from being awake already (even though, really, going to work doesn't take much brain energy.) He gets a substantial amount of the framework set up and tries to work through the algorithms. A lot of the actual map of the website and general functions are on his whiteboards in his dorm, but this part he can work through memory and improvisation.

Erica picks up his bagel at some point and spreads cream cheese over it, handing it back to Mark with a lot of sighs and withering glances. Mark takes it and eats it, not paying her much attention. She pokes her head over his shoulder again.

"Make the textbox about fifteen pixels wider," she says, pointing to the dummy website Mark has up in one window, as much as he can do without having his desktop with him right now.

Mark's head is in the math cloud right now. He tears his gaze away from the algorithms and looks at her. "What?"

"This textbox is too small, it's hard on the eyes and makes everything looked cramped," says Erica.

Mark huffs out a breath. "I'm not working on that right now."

"Well okay, then make a note of it or something," says Erica.

Mark glares at her. Erica always has too much to say about thefacebook, especially with the front-end stuff which he's had mostly set up for weeks. Mark wishes he could hate her for it.

She just folds her arms and raises her eyebrows. Mark sighs and relents, stealing one of the sticky notes she has out, scribbling on it, and then sticking it to the top right corner of his screen.

"There," he says. "Happy?"

"You owe me one post-it note," she says.

After a bit, Erica disappears and comes back with two plastic cases of sushi, placing one in front of Mark. Mark doesn't say anything as he opens it and grabs the proffered chopsticks without removing his gaze from his computer.

"Thank you, Erica," Erica says mockingly.

"You sound ridiculous," says Mark.

They eat, even though Mark had just had his bagel some time ago. (His computer's clock reads 11:57.) Mark's only barely finished his food and trying to multitask with eating and coding—it doesn't actually feel like consumption when his body is too tired to register the actual feeling of hunger—when Erica's face appears in front of his computer screen once again, startling him.

"What," he demands, jerking back.

Erica is unfazed. "You have a class at twelve twenty," she says.

Mark blinks. "How did—How did you know that?"

Erica scoffs. "How stupid do you think I am?" She doesn't let Mark answer that, because while he is trying to properly resurface from thefacebook, she closes his laptop and begins putting it in his bag.

Mark squawks and tries to stop her. "Hey—I was working on that," he protests.

She avoids him and wrestles his computer into the back of his bag. "And now," she says, handing it back over to him, "you are going to go to whatever noon twenty class you have on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We've been eating lunch together for over a week already, Mark."

"You've been mothering me for over a week," Mark grumbles.

Erica makes her eyes wide, in that annoying way girls do when they're know they're right and they want to hear you admit it. "Go," she says, pointing out of the library's cafe.

Despite himself, Mark goes. He likes Erica—he wouldn't willingly hang out with someone he doesn't like—and she's really the only friend he has here when he lives in a single and hides his face behind his laptop in every discussion section he has. He doesn't really count his coworkers as friends, though he supposes working in the mornings with Dustin brings that close; and Chris from ILL isn't too bad.

Mark does have a class at 12:20, and just barely makes it in time. It's for forty minutes, which when compared to three hour long classes is actually pretty short, objectively. But it's the longest forty minutes of his life.

As soon as he gets home, Mark plans on working on thefacebook some more. But once he sees his bed, he sprawls onto it; once he's horizontal, he's dead to the world. He doesn't wake up until ten pm with an aching hunger in his stomach. Mentally cursing the dining halls for being closed at this hour, Mark orders himself insomnia cookies.

The week goes by normally, Erica catching him at the library because evidently she has his entire schedule memorized, though Mark finds himself not minding so much. Dustin is—well, Dustin as usual, and on one day he hooks Mark on a game for thirty whole minutes, which is a new record.

On Friday he's on one of his atrocious morning shifts again, though this time he'd picked it up because a coworker was caught with the flu and Mark keeps tabs on dropped shifts more than he keeps tabs on college football games, though that doesn't say much. Dustin's already taken the head count for the previous hour when Mark comes in, but at least he's here. Dustin tells him cheerfully, "You've got it this hour!" and Mark just glares at the back of his dark red head.

Taking the tablet from behind the counter, Mark makes his usual way into the reading room. This is his first desk shift since Tuesday, because the rest of the week was occupied with circulation (which Mark doesn't mind though it's easy to let his mind wander and he has to scribble notes on his hands and stray pieces of paper all the time.) The students this morning are no less dead than before: Mark finds a guy asleep in his yogurt.

He reports it off as  _2, Reading room, socializing_.

One person is very much awake and very much lost in his book, metaphorically so. Mark recognizes him after a second of deliberation—suit guy, because he's wearing a three piece suit again and sitting at a table next to the window. The way his skin browns under the sunlight is familiar. Also, Mark has literally never seen another college student wear a three piece suit in the morning.

He thinks about making a comment to the guy about that— _who wears suits in the mornings?_ —but Mark isn't really the type to strike up conversations with strangers, or really be in the position to remark on anyone else's sartorial choices. He's wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt and it's too early in the morning for his supervisor to be in and yell at him for looking like he came to work in his pajamas.

He begins counting the guy as  _1, Reading room_. When he looks up again, he sees that the guy has shifted—his book is propped up so the spine and cover are clearly visible. Suit guy is reading about statistics. He catches Mark's eye briefly in that way when someone thinks you're going to nod and move on. Mark wants to snort because who is that immersed in a book about  _math?_

"I didn't know you could be so captivated by a book about numbers," he says absently, marking off  _Studying_  on the tablet.

He doesn't really expect suit guy to respond, but suit guy does. "Then you don't know me very well," he says, lips quirking.

Mark huffs. "Not  _you_ ," he says. "I meant any interesting person."

"You don't think I'm interesting? I'm hurt." Suit guy's tone is mocking, and Mark thinks for a moment that suit guy knows Mark isn't being serious, even though Mark doesn't really think he's very transparent.

"Like I care," Mark mutters, fully prepared to move on.

But suit guy says, "Don't you like numbers? Aren't you taking any math classes?"

Mark rolls his eyes. "Just because I'm not boring enough to spend a  _Friday morning_  reading about numbers doesn't mean I don't like them," he says. "I'm a programmer. Of course I do."

"Programming." Suit guy nods once. A smile is creeping onto his face.

Mark feels like he's being laughed at. "What?"

"Nothing," says suit guy.

He seems to recollect himself, because while Mark stares, baffled and waiting for the punchline, suit guy sets his book down (and not in that annoying way that breaks the spines, thank god), stands up, and clears his throat. "I'm Eduardo," he says, sticking out a hand.

And  _that_  is just fucking weird and stupid. Mark stares at his hand, then back at Eduardo's face. "Are you kidding me?"

Eduardo laughs a little, ducking his head down and scratching behind it, with the hand he'd stuck out. "Sorry," he says, bashfully for once. "Force of habit—I'm in the Business Investor's Association."

"That explains it," Mark says dryly.

To his astonishment, Eduardo laughs, again. "Yeah," he says.

Mark really does—not know what to say, because even Erica hadn't been this awkward or friendly when they'd met. And that time they'd already talked to each other, not having sent each other weird glances that made something at the bottom of Mark's stomach tug hotly. "I'm gonna," he lifts up the library tablet and jerks his head, to the rest of the reading room.

"Oh, right," says Eduardo. He's smiling. "Work." He reaches out and flicks the student assistant tag around its lanyard against Mark's chest.

And Mark has no idea what to do with that, so he makes an absent noise and retreats, resuming his inaccurate recounting of the room.

When he gets back out to the desk, he still has no idea what just happened. He plugs in the tablet at the back, while Dustin asks, as usual, "How does it look out there?"

"It was fine," Mark says, still thinking about Eduardo. It occurs to him entirely belatedly that he actually hadn't given Eduardo his name, which makes him feel weirdly guilty all of a sudden.

"'Fine' as in everyone got abducted by aliens, or 'fine' as in there's a dead body and three cows in there?"

Mark stares at Dustin. "I really have no idea how I tolerate you," he says.

***

It just doesn't make any sense, because people don't usually _like_ Mark before he meets them, or afterward. They certainly don't smile at him, or hold their hand out when they meet him; and they definitely don't hang out in college libraries, reading books about math and wearing jackets Mark thought he might've seen at prom, had he gone.

Mark tries not to think about it too hard, even though he itches to. Thefacebook occupies his thoughts more, easily enough, looking more and promising by the day, despite the slow-motion the coding during the times Mark catches between work and classes, and in his dorm when he's not asleep. He manages well between it all, though one time he comes into class and the girl next to him definitely scrunches her nose a bit. Mark sniffs himself and realizes he can't remember the last time he showered.

Mark wouldn't have considered himself a workaholic before, just a prodigy (according to everyone else, anyway.) But thefacebook—it's so vivid and _alive_  in his mind, the code practically flowing out through his ears sometimes; and once he starts it's hard to stop unless he really forces himself to. The next week he purchases a Linux box for the MySQL databases with the money he's recently scraped up, looking over his layouts and wanting to work on thirty things at once. In the evening he gets lost in numbers and the code, even when his eyelids fight to stay open.

With work, though, it gets harder with this brain multitasking. Plus there's the impending doom of finals week soon. On Monday he's okay because he's running circulation and mostly checking in books, so he jots down notes every few minutes or so, not long enough for his supervisors to notice and scold him. Tuesday is fine too, because he gets lucky and codes at the desk in during the bleak morning, and Dustin doesn't mind taking the (few) patrons they get from the six to nine a.m. shift. His nine to ten a.m. coworker is kind of scared of Mark, so she doesn't complain, either. None of his supervisors come out to check how things are going; Mark manages to get a good chunk of work done during his four hour shift this morning.

So that's how Wednesday afternoon goes, too, albeit a bit more cautiously; he has a one hour circulation shift and a one hour desk shift that day. When he's at the desk, he keeps his ears perked for the sound of his supervisor's voice, but he codes as studiously as he can. A few patrons come up to his part of the desk and look at him expectantly, though, so he has to tear his gaze from the computer occasionally and snap, "What?"

On Thursday morning, Mark is fritting away at his keyboard when he hears a loud and annoying sigh. He snaps his head around to see Dustin staring into space dreamily, his chin propped on one hand.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" says Mark. He feels kind of bad afterward, because he'd only gotten two hours of sleep last night and one of the algorithms isn't working and it's gotten to the point where it's more frustrating than challenging.

But Dustin doesn't seem to mind. He just blinks and smiles dopily at absolutely nothing.

"Stephanie Attis," he says, to the air.

"Who's Stephanie Attis?"

"This girl," Dustin says, still looking dazed.

"That's helpful," Mark snaps.

A girl appears from the reading room then, looking from side to side and biting her lip. She starts off in one direction, but then pauses in the middle of the hallway and glances back the other way.

"She's so cute," says Dustin, watching her.

Mark squints. "I think she's lost."

"Yeah," Dustin says, still in his annoying voice. "She's cute when she's lost."

"Jesus christ, you're incompetent." Mark rolls his eyes and snatches one of the maps from the wooden holders in front of them. "Hey!" he calls down the hall, to the girl. The girl's eyes widen. "Yeah, you, come get a map."

The girl walks over, furrowing her eyebrows at Mark. "Uh, thanks," she says, taking the folded map from Mark's hand. "Hey, you're in my art history class. Mark, right?"

Mark frowns, too. "Yeah," he says.

"What'd you think of Monday's lecture?" asks the girl.

Mark curses whatever power it is that allows people to recognize you in multiple places, because then they try to start conversations that Mark doesn't care about.

"Inconsequential," he answers. "Don't get lost again, that's what maps are for." He waves her off.

She gives him a dirty look before stomping off.

Mark turns to Dustin, to see that Dustin is gaping at him.

" _Mark_!" he says, sliding down from his chair. He walks over and whacks Mark hard on the arm.

Mark yelps in pain. "What the fuck?"

"You don't treat a  _lady_  like that," Dustin says sternly, going back to his chair. "You—You're  _nice_  to them."

"I didn't see you stopping me," Mark shoots back. "You didn't say anything."

Dustin pauses for a second, before groaning. "Ugh," he says.

"So don't blame me for anything."

"I could've stopped you before you made a complete jackass out of yourself," Dustin continues, ignoring him. Mark's protest is cut off as he adds, "And asked her out.  _God_ , I'm as hopeless as you."

"You are much more hopeless than me," Mark says, offended.

"You're both pretty hopeless." Chris from ILL walks in through the counter door, wheeling in a cart of books. "What's going on?"

"Mark doesn't know how to talk to girls," Dustin says, before Mark can respond.

Mark grabs a golf pencil from one of the pencil holders and throws it at Dustin's head. Dustin says, "Hey!" as it hits him.

"One," says Mark. "I do know how to talk to girls. I talk to Erica. And  _two_ ," he turns to Chris. "Dustin is even worse at talking to girls."

Chris looks amused. "You just implied that on some level you're bad at talking to them," he says, bracing his hands on the cart. "And I stand by my original statement." He begins stacking the back shelf with inter library loan books.

"Chris," Dustin whines, spinning in his chair. "How do I talk to girls?"

"I'm not sure how to give you advice since I'm gay," says Chris. "Have you tried opening your mouth and using your brain?"

Dustin makes an unintelligible noise and buries his hands in his hair. Mark has returned to his coding, though he keeps an ear on their conversation all the same. He's always been good at juggling multitudes of information at a time; his family would always say that it was like he had eyes and ears on every side of his head.

"I don't even know if she has a boyfriend," Dustin moans, from next to him. "Oh, man—wait, Mark, she's in your art history class."

Mark barely responds to the sound of his name. "Hn," he says, typing rapidly.

"Do you know if she has a boyfriend? Or if she's even looking for anyone to date?" Dustin pleads.

Mark rolls his eyes and glances over. "Dustin," he says. "People don't walk around with a sign on them saying—"

He stops, suddenly. In a brilliant stroke of inspiration it comes to him, and he thinks, _this is_ it. Mark quickly minimizes files until he gets to the profile page, typing out the HTML and then the function,  _Relationship Status_.

"Saying what?" says Dustin, from somewhere far away.

"Interested in," Mark mutters, as he types it in.

He's jittery afterward, even though Dustin whines because Chris is no help. Chris says goodbye to the both of them and doesn't mind Mark's, "Unh," and Dustin saying, "Don't ever give relationship advice again!" Mark ignores them both.

He manages to get through the rest of the shift with coding at the desk and not getting caught. There are instances where he almost does when his supervisor comes from the back, though Mark had changed the background of the text editing program from white-on-black to black-on-white so it's less distinctive. He tries his hardest to be genial to patrons so they don't complain, and have his supervisor trace the source to him again.

Dustin begs him to ask Stephanie Attis if she's single the next time he has art history; Mark easily resolves to himself that he won't—he'll probably be doing her a favor then. Erica appears at the desk toward the end of his shift, leaning her elbows on the counter.

"Erica!" Dustin exclaims. She'd come by enough that Dustin had learned her name too. "How do you talk to girls?"

Erica pauses. "No wonder you two are friends," she says, before turning to Mark. "Why haven't I seen you lately? You didn't show for lunch yesterday."

"Busy," Mark says absently, trying to type as much as he can before a coworker comes and kicks him out.

"Thefacebook?" Erica says.

"He's like a machine," Dustin comments. "A little robot."

Erica scoffs. "He wishes he was, then he wouldn't need to eat or sleep," she says. "How much sleep did you get last night?" she asks Mark.

Mark makes a noncommittal noise.

" _Mark_."

Mark tears his gaze away to meet hers. " _Erica_."

"You are being  _obsessive_  over thefacebook," she scolds. "Someone needs to subscribe you some medication, you wouldn't care if the side effects include blindness."

"Okay, first of all, if I was blind, it would be harder for me to code," Mark starts, holding a hand up. "And second, I'm pretty sure that's insensitive to blind people—"

"Like you care about insensitivity—we've been getting lunch together for two weeks now, Mark!"

"I'll eat lunch with you today!" Mark says, finally. "There. Are you happy?"

Erica pulls back and folds her arms across her chest. "Very," she says shortly, before moving to disappear into the reading room behind them. "Bye Dustin," she says over her shoulder.

Mark huffs and leans back, shifting his gaze back to his code.

Dustin says, "Yeah, like that counts as talking to girls."

***

On Friday, Mark's shift is three hours in circ and none at the desk, where he'd rather be. The computer he usually sits at has emacs downloaded on it, which no one has really noticed yet; a few of his coworkers had tried to sit there during his shift over the week, but he'd forced them off so he could continue coding.

He doesn't have any work on Saturday, because,  _Seriously Mark, we're not letting you come here every day of the week_. Sunday, though, he has a five hour desk job because that's how weekend shifts go. He gets to take a fifteen minute break, which he does when Erica comes and drags him out to eat lunch with her again.

When he comes back, he resumes his coding. He's in the middle of a string when he hears someone clear their throat behind him.

"Homework?" says his supervisor's voice.

Mark nearly jumps out of his skin, startled. His supervisor, Carlton Summers, nephew of the president of the school and director of circulation of the main library, is behind him, arms folded across his chest and wearing the same look behind his glasses when he'd told Mark that no sane college kid could work for over twenty hours, no matter how much he insisted.

"No," says Mark, quickly minimizing the window.

Carlton lets out an all-suffering sigh. He'd done that once when Dustin had beaten his own high score for some game, whooping, and Carlton was running the desk with the both of them, last semester.

"We went over this, Mark," he says, with feigned patience. "You have to pay attention to the patrons. We don't let you guys do homework out here, either; you need to focus."

Mark blinks. "I do focus."

"On your  _work_."

Mark opens his mouth, but Carlton says, "Never mind. Pay attention to your patrons," he says again.

The back of Mark's neck prickles with embarrassment, and he tries to shake it off when a couple of guys come up to him. "Hi," he says, though he falters: they're both big, blond, and look exactly like each other.

"Uh, hi," says one of them. "We were wondering where the English lit section is?"

Mark snorts. "You're not going to have sex down there, are you?"

"Mark," Carlton says warningly.

The one who'd spoken turns to the other one. The only difference between them is that one of them is wearing a ski cap, even though they're indoors.

"Uh, no," says the first one, turning to Mark again.

"Two floors down, east wing, take a map if you don't know which direction east is." Mark grabs a map and thrusts it out at the guy. "Bye."

The guy takes it and looks at Mark hesitantly. "Bye," he says, like he can't believe he's saying it. He leaves with his doppelganger.

Mark turns to Carlton, who is watching him with a pained expression on his face. "How was that?" Mark asks.

Carlton shakes his head. "You're lucky you're an efficient circ worker," he says.

Once he's gone, his coworker at the desk—not Dustin today, disappointingly—says, "He probably said that because you don't have to talk to anyone at circ."

"Shut up," Mark mutters, closing emacs.

The code is still running through his head though, so fast and intense that his fingers twitch with want. He sends several emails to himself with code while tending to patrons, dully answering their questions and sighing the one time he has to get up from the desk to grab a search form for a missing book. He's glad he never bothers to take the Super shifts, though it pays more; he's not sure if Carlton would trust him with locking or unlocking the library, anyway.

Once he gets off work, he grabs his backpack, turns to the reading room, and parks himself at the first empty table he sees. The code is streaming through his fingers even though he's not typing, and he jitters as he opens up his laptop and waits for everything to load. As soon as the familiar black box pops open, he starts coding, letting everything that's running through his head out on text, fingers pattering nonstop.

Eventually when his brain and fingers slow down, he opens up his email to fill in the missing gaps in the code. He refreshes the screen, wishing he could just magic his monitor here so he wouldn't have to go back to his dorm to work more efficiently. Another idea occurs to him, and he resumes his typing, getting lost back in the sea of white on black and numbers and letters and brackets.

The library closes at eleven thirty today, so Mark's not overly concerned with overstaying his welcome. At one point his stomach rumbles, but he dismisses it and shortly after the hunger disappears. His head feels light and his eyes strain as the sky out the window fades to dark. The lamps at the end of the table automatically turn on, washing orange over his hands.

He continues, not wondering how far or where his brain will take him. He doesn't have his headphones today because he'd been planning on going home immediately and working, but the reading room's nearly empty, anyway, so there's not any sound to block out.

Then someone behind him says, "This is a change."

Mark whips around so fast he winces right afterward. Suit guy—Eduardo is standing there behind him, though he's not wearing a jacket today. A black Northface is donned over his shoulders, and he's wearing jeans. The strap of his briefcase is slung over one shoulder.

Mark looks him up and down. "So is this."

Eduardo chuckles. "Touche."

He nods towards Mark's computer screen. "What're you working on?"

Mark narrows his eyes at him. "You code?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" Eduardo says, smiling.

Mark continues to be confused at these smiles, and the weird way he kind of likes them, the way that Eduardo's tone is so teasing even though they haven't really talked before. "No," he answers, before turning back to his computer.

"Wanna humor me?" Eduardo asks from his right side.

Mark says absently, "It's a website that connects kids at Harvard, lets them see their friends and friends of friends and photos and networks."

"Oh! You're the guy who created CourseMatch, aren't you?" says Eduardo. When Mark glances sharply at him again, Eduardo's grin turns sheepish. "Sorry, it just—it sounds similar to that. Though more effective," he adds, when Mark's eyes narrow.

"Don't try to flatter me," he mutters, speeding up his typing.

"I'm not," Eduardo says lightly. "I guess it's useful if you want to meet a girl or something."

"Or get laid," Mark mumbles, trying to mess with an algorithm. It's the same one that had been giving him trouble earlier, and he doesn't know what's wrong with it. He double checks his brackets and order of functions for what feels like the fiftieth time.

"That too." Eduardo sounds amused.

He doesn't say anything after that, though Mark expects him to, considering how talkative Eduardo evidently is. Mark's annoyance twinges at the prospect, but in this—unfamiliar way, where he wouldn't mind being annoyed, with Eduardo talking. He fumbles with the algorithm some more, hoping it'll resolve itself to him in the near future. He'd give up his feeling stupidity in exchange for having this problem solved.

Eduardo remains suspiciously quiet from behind him, as Mark types.

Then: "Bye, I guess."

"Bye," Mark mutters, hitting backspace and saving the page.

But Eduardo leans over Mark's shoulder, and says, "Try using 500 instead of 1200 here here." He points at Mark's computer screen. His presence is warm near Mark's skin.

Mark tries to ignore the prickling and focuses on the algorithm instead. He had, indeed, forgotten a parenthetical. "Thanks," he says, tapping his arrow keys.

Eduardo shoots him a sidelong grin, before strolling off, righting the strap of his bag and heading out the double doors. Mark stares at his retreating back for what feels like too long. Who the hell is this guy?

*

Finals week is the week after the next, which means Mark's time to work on thefacebook diminishes drastically as he does his best to cram so he doesn't fail any classes.

He doesn't know why he'd taken art history this semester—he should've taken it next semester, like he'd planned, so he wouldn't have to pretend to care now. But his schedule had looked so swamped with compsci, the same thing over and over again for days; he'd thought that trying to fill both his social sciences and performance arts gen eds would've made it more interesting. He's beginning to regret it.

Luckily, some guy who sits next to him in art history and always asks him what he's working on agrees to write Mark's final paper in exchange for fifty bucks, so Mark doesn't have to waste his time caring about  _that_  and can focus on thefacebook instead. He suffers through the week before finals week, going through old problem sets when he's working in the back, actively listening when Dustin starts ranting about economics at the desk.

Dustin is also bemoaning about an eight-page essay he has to write for his American short story class when Chris from ILL comes in with a truck of books. He snorts scornfully when Dustin complains, " _Eight pages_  about  _short stories_!"

"Eight pages isn't that much," says Chris, carting behind them. "I had to write twenty-two pages on 'The Lottery' once."

"Just because you once suffered more doesn't mean I'm suffering any less," Dustin whines.

"Pick one symbol and run it to the ground," says Chris.

"I  _hate_  symbols."

"I'm sure they hate you too," says Chris. He turns to Mark. "Mark? Mark."

"Yeah," Mark says distantly. He blinks and shakes his head. "What?" he says to Chris.

"Nothing, you just look… tired." Chris seems amused.

Mark frowns at him. "Why are you smiling when you say that?"

Dustin snaps his fingers and points at Chris with one hand. "It's official," he says. "Chris from ILL is a sadist."

"Chris from ILL," Chris echoes.

"It's what we call you when you're not around," says Dustin. "The entire library staff. We all know you as Chris from ILL."

"Or, you know, just us," says Mark.

Chris snickers, moving to the back shelf so he can file the books for patrons. Mark resumes staring into space, mind drifting to thefacebook every so often before he makes himself concentrate on his finals again. His art history one is on Wednesday afternoon, but the final for his OS class this semester is Tuesday morning, and Mark hasn't quite drilled in all the concepts into his brain yet, though he's getting close.

He's jerked out of his reverie yet again when Chris starts heading toward the exit, having finished shelving the books, and Dustin hops out of his chair to throw his arms around both Mark and Chris. Mark is sitting in his chair, though, so he staggers and practically falls out.

"My brothers in arms," Dustin says dramatically. "Because of your attempt at undermining my work ethic," he looks at Chris, "and your very successful impression of a zombie," now Mark, "I invite you both to a party at my friend's house this weekend."

"You're inviting us to your friend's house," Chris repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Dustin waves a hand. "He said anyone could invite friends, it's a pre-finals week club."

"Do I look like I go to parties?" Mark says dryly, though the idea isn't too bad.

Both Dustin and Chris choke out with laughter at that, and Dustin says, "I'm taking pity on you, Mark. Seriously. What do you do with your time when you're not coding or eating lunch with Erica?"

Mark seriously tries to find an answer to that question. His hesitation makes them both laugh again.

Chris meets Mark's eyes, amused. "I'll go if you go," he teases.

"I doubt that you'll want to stick to that condition," says Mark, but he agrees to, anyway.

So that's how he finds himself with Dustin's number in his phone and, on Saturday, walking to the address Dustin had texted him, staring between his phone screen and the street signs, navigating the sidewalks. It's off-campus but not too far away, the December chill sweeping across Mark's face as he knots his fingers in the pocket of his hoodie. He'd thought about maybe dressing nice, or maybe at least making some sort of attempt on his appearance, before he decided that everyone would probably be trying to get too blackout drunk to really care about what Mark looked like, anyway.

There are already a lot of parties going on along the street, which is reasonable; Dustin hadn't really given him a time and had texted Mark in the early afternoon, and Mark figured it would be lame if he showed up early to a house he didn't know. It's in the middle of the evening now and the street is rowdy with kids smoking and whooping. Mark walks briskly and ducks his head so he doesn't have to make eye contact with anyone.

He finds the house eventually, and considers texting Dustin that he's here. But Mark's not that clingy, and besides, Dustin is probably too drunk to care or notice, anyway. It'd loud in the house, so he doesn't bothering knocking or ringing the doorbell, and lets himself inside.

He's been to one college party before, back in the middle of freshman year. This is no different: there are bodies crowded everywhere, the air reeking of booze and sex (though the latter is just Mark's guess.) The floor is dimly lit, though there's a pretty clear path leading to and from the kitchen. Mark manages to slip past them.

He doesn't really know what's in the solo cups sprawled all over the table, and doesn't want to ask anyone to find out. He discovers the beer stash instead, in the cooler next to a pathetic looking refrigerator. He grabs one by the neck and begins roaming around, looking for Dustin.

He knows that this is the right place because Dustin has the same music taste that he does—techno punk, none of that annoying ear worm stuff—and it's blasting around the house, because his friend who owns this place must be the same. Mark can't find Dustin anywhere, though, so he drinks and attempts to find someone interesting in this mess of bodies.  _Meet a girl_ , Mark hears in his head, and snorts. If thefacebook was live, girls could meet him.

But after one drink and three failed attempts at conversation, one of which did actually end up with the girl attempting to pour her drink on Mark—Mark had jumped away just in time—he concludes that the party is boring, Dustin is unreliable and has terrible taste, and it'd be better for him to leave. There is free beer, though, so he grabs two more bottles and slips one into his pocket, opening the other as he heads back to the front door.

He stumbles out into the dry December air, not feeling as frosty before. Mark takes a long pull of his drink and swallows; at least he can get drunk by himself, and code. The last half hour or so has been mostly a waste of time aside from the free alcohol, but Mark tends to work better and more recklessly when he's drunk. He likes being reckless. His blood pumps faster and he has more energy.

He finishes the second beer quickly and looks around baselessly for a trash can, even though he's in the middle of the sidewalk along a strip of college houses. One of them is fenced off, so when he reaches it, he bends down and tucks it between two of the vertical rungs, barely balancing it. There. Someone will find it tomorrow morning and throw it away properly.

Mark doesn't sway, because Mark does not sway; but he stumbles a bit as he heads back to campus. He thinks about drinking his third beer, though campus police could find him and ask for his ID. Plus, he could always save it for later. Mark tucks his hands into his pocket, wrapping his hands around the cool and perspiring bottle.

He makes his way into the Yard, zigzagging along the sidewalks, cutting across patches of grass and the shallow snow that's already started to get to Kirkland quicker. He's more focused on keeping the bottle secure between his hands and not tripping over his own two feet, so he's not looking up when he stumbles right into someone.

Mark tilts, everything going slow for a second, including his reflexes. But then a firm warm hand steadies him, on his elbow.

Straightening up, Mark coughs and averts his gaze to the side, embarrassed. Then he sees the same amused smile being directed at him, illuminated by the golden light pouring out from the building next door.

"Be careful," says Eduardo, letting him go. He pats Mark's sleeve strangely.

"'Wardo." The first syllable drops off easily; Mark hasn't really talked since after his two drinks.

Eduardo's face does a complicated thing, but settles into that all familiar smile. "And I don't know your name," he says to Mark.

A thought occurs to Mark. "You knew about CourseMatch," he says to Eduardo, accusingly. "You could read the Crimson."

Eduardo shrugs. "Maybe I wanted to hear it from you." His eyes are twinkling.

Mark  _doesn't understand_ , and this guy is so  _weird_. He huffs and says, "Mark. My name is Mark." His right hand had slipped out of his pocket when he'd almost fallen. His fingers twitch involuntarily.

"Mark," Eduardo says.

Hearing his name rolling off Eduardo's tongue sends an internal stream of warmth down Mark's spine, though it's probably just the alcohol talking. He coughs again, and then says, "Happy?"

Eduardo seems to consider his words for a second. He cocks his head to the side and observes Mark.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks.

Mark's bones do feel shaky, but not really in that cold way. Maybe. "No," he decides, even though his fingers around the beer bottle are colder than his face in the near-winter air. "Aren't you?"

"I'm wearing a jacket," Eduardo points out, because Eduardo is wearing his Northface jacket again. Mark is beginning to believe that the only clothes Eduardo owns are suits and Northface jackets. He's weird.

"You're weird," says Mark.

Eduardo snorts, though not meanly. "Thanks," he says. "You're more talkative than usual." His eyes scan over Mark again, making Mark weirdly feel like he's an amoeba being dissected by some enthusiastic scientist. "Are you drunk?"

Mark shrugs, tugs the bottle of beer out of his pocket to wave it. He figures that he can trust Eduardo; and even if Eduardo turns out to be a snitch, he can just shove it in Eduardo's hands before making his escape. "On my way there," he says.

"I'm pretty sure you're already there," Eduardo teases.

Mark glares, and tries to put feeling behind it, though it's hard when Eduardo is  _still_  smiling at him like that and it's just—Mark hasn't really been the object of that much radiant positivity before. "And what about you?" he demands. "What the hell are you doing outside, at—"

"Nine o'clock on a Saturday?"

Eduardo is smirking, and it's weirdly—nice, like in that way when Mark had walked by the girls' locker room in Exeter once while the door was swinging wide open and he could see just a flash of girls changing in the full-length mirror against the wall. He didn't mean to look then, but Eduardo's face is kind of like, a full on thing. Mark doesn't have any choice with him.

"I was at the library, actually," Eduardo continues.

Mark scoffs, though he thinks about how he might've seen Eduardo today if he'd taken a Saturday shift, or if someone had been sick today. His chest pangs with something he can't place.

"You spend all of your time there," he says, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

"Not really," says Eduardo, but he doesn't look offended. "Finals week, you know."

"You didn't get invited to any parties?" Mark quirks an eyebrow. "Though I suppose I'm not surprised if all you do is read books about math."

"I don't," Eduardo says defensively. "I read about the weather, too."

Mark just stares at him, because there's no way this guy is—this guy. Eduardo smiles and Mark thinks that maybe he's joking with him, but then Eduardo says, "Yeah, I know, my dad thinks it's weird too. But it's cool. And useful to know when you need an umbrella."

"I'd just always bring an umbrella," says Mark.

"You wouldn't; you're wearing sandals in the snow." Eduardo glances pointedly at their feet. "Are you going back to your dorm?"

Mark nods, starting off again. "Kirkland," he says, to Eduardo's unanswered question.

"Oh, I'm in Eliot," says Eduardo brightly; Eliot's right next door to Kirkland. "Are you in any clubs?"

Mark shrugs. "Too busy with classes and thefacebook," he says, and ignores Eduardo's confused eyebrow furrow. "Are you?"

Eduardo opens his mouth, closes it, then says, "I'm in AEPi." His words drop off like he's leaving something out, but if it's his attempt to be mysterious, Mark's not going to fall for it.

"And the Business Investor's Association," Mark adds, sidestepping a drunk couple they pass. "You told me that, too."

"Oh, you remembered," Eduardo says happily. "Yeah, and that. I'm president of that, actually."

"How does that work? Do you have a competition of who has the most tailored jackets and the shiniest shoes?"

"Who's fastest to put on cufflinks, actually," Eduardo replies without missing a beat. "I won, obviously, but it was pretty close. You should see the other guy."

Mark snorts once, derisively; then he does again, actually laughing. Eduardo watches with a smile he doesn't seem conscious off as Mark does his best to force his giggles back in his throat. His head feels light and the sky is so dark and bright at the same time.

They arrive at Kirkland and Eliot, soon enough. The road ends with them, but Eduardo stops and says, "Are you going to be okay getting back?"

"It's right there," Mark says, rolling his eyes and pointing. "You go back to—practicing putting on your cufflinks, or whatever."

"I don't need to, I'm already a master at them." Eduardo smiles, anyway. "Goodnight, Mark."

His face is so  _nice_  and Mark's fingers tingle with warmth, still pressed to the bottle in his pocket. "'Night Wardo," he says, the first syllable dropping again. Or maybe it's just nicer and easier to say.

Eduardo's nice face gets even brighter, even though there aren't any street lamps nearby. He lifts a hand in a wave, and Mark nods before trekking to his house entrance.

The warmth rushes over his body almost immediately, though it's hard to say if it's sobering or makes his fuzzy head even fuzzier. Mark thinks of thefacebook, and everything comes rushing back to him again—he doesn't remember where he'd left off, but he knows where he wants to start tonight. He hunkers down in his dorm and whips open his laptop, starting up his desktop at the same time. The beer he'd been planning on saving for later is too close and he wants to open it, so he does and drinks and codes for the rest of the night.

It's a decent preclude to finals week, which becomes hell the moment he wakes up. He trucks through it readily, albeit painfully, dragging his mind away from thefacebook and shifting focus onto other, more useless things. He bullshits his art history exam, which is mostly interpretations of paintings, anyway. The final for his OS lab takes too long, but at the end he cracks his knuckles and feels good about it.

Erica's still in town even though BU had held its finals the week before. She says that her parents are visiting her older brother, who's an expat in Italy, before going to visit her relatives in Germany.

They're getting lunch at the Thirsty Scholar, because Erica's friend works here (Mark privately thinks that they'd slept together, though he doesn't comment on it) so they can easily get drinks without getting carded. Erica rolls her eyes over her sandwich, before picking up a triangle slice.

"So I'm probably going to be around Boston for a couple more weeks," she says, taking a bite. "What about you?"

Mark shrugs half-heartedly. "Gotta go back. Chinese food day and all that." He waves his own sandwich around.

Erica laughs. "Sounds fun," she says. "How are your finals?"

"Tiring and needless," Mark mutters, picking out a stray piece of lettuce from his tuna salad and tucking it between his teeth. "I'm barely getting any work for thefacebook done, and I can only work this evening. I have to study for the rest of the time." He grumbles and takes an aggressive bite.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll live," says Erica, though she sounds less assuring and more amused. "Thefacebook, too. It's not going anywhere."

"It better, once it launches." Mark glares at his sandwich again. "I have no idea when it'll be ready to be put up. I've been working on it for weeks and it still feels like there's so much to do."

"You'll have time to work on it during winter recess, right?"

"As long as I don't have to sit through a marathon of  _Friends_."

They finish their lunch, chatting and drinking amicably. Mark barely suppresses a snort when Erica says goodbye to the door guy, but if she notices, she ignores him.

They head towards Widener; Erica plans on reading in one of the alcoves in one of the bigger study rooms, and Mark tells himself even though it's not much, any time at work is more money for thefacebook. Erica is talking about color theory and color to shape relationships when a familiar dark figure catches Mark's eye.

Eduardo is making his way through the towering columns and down the steps, two white earbuds vivid against his black overcoat. Although it's obvious that he's wearing one of his suits today—his slacks are pressed and the creases are stiff with his strides. He notices Mark about a second later, and their eyes meet.

While Erica talks, Mark lifts up a hand and nods once. Maybe Eduardo will come over and talk to him.

But Eduardo's gaze darts somewhere to Mark's side, and then back. His mouth twitches and nods back at Mark, before veering off to a fork, without taking his headphones out. Mark watches him funnily, frowning.

"Mark?" says Erica, looking over at him.

"What? Oh." Mark had almost forgotten she was there.

Erica looks curious. "Did you know that guy?" she asks.

Mark lifts a shoulder. He's not sure how to describe it; he can call Chris and Dustin coworkers (well, Dustin moreso), but Eduardo had just… kind of happened. "I guess," he says absently.

"You guess?" Erica raises her eyebrows. "People don't really guess if they know people, Mark."

"Yes they do, if they don't know if they're supposed to recognize them," Mark shoots back.

Erica sighs.

Work proceeds as normal, though disappointingly Dustin doesn't have a shift along with him, and Chris doesn't come out from ILL. Mark checks in books, bored, thinking of his old finals, thinking of his next one, of thefacebook—no, no, his next final. There are books for the music library today, and Mark has to hit enter twice for each one, and then stand on his tiptoes to reach the shelf for music library books.

The rest of his finals pass soon enough, and then he's out for winter recess, meeting his parents at the train station. He tells them about thefacebook on the ride home, and when he's back in Dobbs Ferry, his sisters are back from school and his parents make him tell them, too.

And despite other interruptions and pointless events (like Chinese food night, New Year's, and rewatching the first Harry Potter movie, which Mark had enjoyed the first time but not  _that_  much), he gets a significant amount done for thefacebook over break. It's not coming together fully, and there are still bugs he's created that he needs to patch up—it's annoying that he has to make the bugs in order for them to be there for him to fix. But it's coming together anyway, like strings into one big ball, like how he sees the world coming together through the future users of the website and the people themselves.

Mark codes religiously, nearly every day, though his family tries to make him do otherwise. On the day that he leaves back for Harvard, which is the last Thursday of recession, Ari complains that he'd spent the whole time in his bedroom.

"That's not true," Mark says immediately. "There was New Year's, I didn't touch my laptop for twenty four hours."

His sister punches his shoulder and tells him that twenty-four hours in four weeks is not a significant amount of time.

Mark doesn't feel too bad, though, because he'd signed on to take a library shift during break, which pays roughly two dollars and fifty cents more per hour, which, added up, can keep the servers running. Or can buy Mark a new pack of red vines, he won't complain either way.

Campus is quiet when he gets back, though he sees a few people trickling out from buildings here or there. Even with working on thefacebook, he doesn't know what it'll be—CourseMatch had been successful enough, but it's always possible that thefacebook will flop. Still, if the final clubs get all over it—but it's always better to be realistic, and he can't hinge on that one condition. He likes working on it and he likes the idea of its potential success where he's the president, though it's a lot of work on his hands, and on his feet in the library.

He shoves his way into his single, flopping his suitcase on the ground and dumping his backpack on his chair. He pulls out his laptop and sits himself down, considering unpacking. But no one's going to bother him about it if he doesn't, so he just starts up his desktop and brings his brain back into code again.

Living alone has its perks; he can make as much of a mess as he wants, though it's usually never intentional—one day Mark will look up and around and realize that there's shit everywhere, and has to dedicate an entire afternoon to sorting it before he grows, like, mold or something. He has to set an alarm on his phone though to get himself out of his coding spree, or else he'll probably be down there forever and never surface until the summer. The alarm isn't to make him sleep, though, because that'll only happen when Mark's tiredness dominates his brainpower. It's for work tomorrow, which he has at ten in the morning.

He does knock out at some point, because he wakes up to the sound of his annoying phone alarm blaring somewhere next to his ear. "Ugh," he mutters; he'd fallen asleep in his Mountain Dew, from a pack he'd bought from the c-store a few weeks ago. He stares at the can and reads  _Caffeine Free_  at the top.

"Ugh," he says again, but finishes it anyway.

He yawns and showers and goes to work, backpack hoisted over one shoulder in case he gets struck with inspiration while on the job and wants to code afterward. The atmosphere is struck with ease as he enters the building, like the library has been refreshing itself from the hell that was finals week. Mark swings behind the desk and ignores the coworker who's already there and tries to greet him.

The building isn't completely dead, though it could be worse considering it's late in the morning and they only get about three or four patrons every hour. Mark plays some flash games and sends emails to himself and ignores his coworker who continuously tries to make conversation with him. Hopefully she'll take the hint sometime soon.

Mark is playing a particularly uninteresting typing game when Eduardo comes in, and Mark does a double take. Eduardo does, too, glancing once at the desk, and then again when he spots Mark. He beams immediately the second time, and walks over.

His coworker goes, "Can I help you?" to Eduardo. She sounds almost eager.

"I'm good, thanks," Eduardo says to her good-naturedly, tugging his earbuds out of his ears. He turns to Mark. "What're you doing here?"

"What are  _you_  doing here?" Mark says accusingly. "It's still winter recess."

"I know that, that's why I'm wondering why you're here." Eduardo sounds amused. "I haven't seen you for weeks."

Mark rolls his eyes. "Probably because I was back home," he says. "I'm just here early because I can be."

"Because you can be," Eduardo echoes. The corner of his mouth lifts. "Well I've been here all break. My parents went to visit my family down in Brazil so I stayed here."

"Fascinating," says Mark.

Eduardo chuckles, ducking his head down a little. "You do sound fascinated," he says, wryly. "Is work that fun for you? Is that why you're back so early?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm at work to make money, not to enjoy myself," says Mark, though Eduardo laughs and Mark can't help but smirk, too.

"Fair point," Eduardo says. "Um."

He glances to the side, though really at nothing, since no one's coming along and there hasn't been any noise or anything. Then Eduardo looks at Mark again and says, "I was—do you have a lunch break?"

"Already took it," says Mark. Then, "Well, not a lunch break, really, but my only break. I was working on thefacebook."

"Right," says Eduardo, nodding. "Do you want to get lunch together right after your shift or something? I haven't eaten yet, and you should eat, too."

"My shift ends at two," says Mark.

"Are you going to eat then?"

Mark shrugs. "Probably."

Eduardo smiles at that. "Then I can wait," he says.

Mark can't really protest, because he's not going to lie—Eduardo is easy to be around, and makes Mark—well, Mark's not sure what it is exactly that Eduardo's presence makes him feel, or do, or whatever. But the thought of grabbing lunch with Eduardo does sound appealing, and Mark isn't particularly sure if he even wants to try to come up with any reasons to say otherwise.

So he says, "Okay," and Eduardo's smile gets a little bigger.

"See you at two," he says, before going down the side and disappearing through the reading room's double doors.

Mark watches him go, before turning back to his computer. He can see his coworker staring at him from his periphery, though. He swivels to look at her and snaps, " _What_?"

She shakes her head and goes back to her computer.

Mark drifts in and out of remembering that he's getting lunch with Eduardo through the rest of his shift as it drones on. True to his word, though, Eduardo comes out at three minutes to two and says to Mark, "Ready?" He's not wearing his earbuds.

Mark points to the clock on his computer screen. "I still have three minutes."

Eduardo laughs like he can't believe him. Mark frowns. "Every minute counts."

"I know, I know," says Eduardo, though he's still laughing a bit. "Okay. I waited for a few hours, so I think I can wait for a few minutes."

He just stands there like a weirdo, biting back a smile until the clock reads exactly two o'clock. "I can go now," Mark says, when it does, slipping out of his chair.

"I'm glad." Eduardo waits as Mark grabs his bag, before signing out and joining him on the other side of the desk. "Where do you want to go for lunch?"

Mark shifts on his feet. Eduardo is mostly still, waiting as Mark makes a decision.

"I usually just go to the cafe with Erica," he says honestly. "But we can go to a dining hall or a restaurant or something, if you want. I don't really care."

"Cool," says Eduardo.

They decide on the Kirkland dining hall, because it's where Mark lives and Kirkland's food could be worse, compared to the other cafeterias on campus. As they walk down the stairs and past the sensors, Eduardo adds, "Who's Erica?"

"Oh, she's—" Mark makes a vague gesture.

Eduardo raises his eyebrows. "A friend?"

"Yeah, I guess," Mark says, thoughtful. "Yeah."

Eduardo hums, but doesn't ask any further questions.

They talk about the classes they're taking next semester, and Mark does his cursory bitching of art history, a habit he developed over break every time anyone brought up school. It warded his family off the topic with him, at least. Eduardo is no less a workaholic than he is: he's taking sixteen semester hours, on top of AEPi and the Harvard Business's Association and whatever it is when he opens his mouth like he's going to speak but then stops himself too soon. Mark decides to worm it out of him one day, even though they barely know each other.

Over lunch, wherein Mark picks the tuna salad option and Eduardo gets some complicated looking Asian cuisine, Mark says, trying for off-handed, "People say that your SAT score doesn't matter much for getting into Harvard, but I got a 1600," and shrugs.

Eduardo widens his eyes, chopsticks pausing in midair. "You got a 1600 on your SATs?"

"I guess speaking four languages doesn't hurt, though the admissions board probably doesn't care about that," Mark says thoughtfully.

Eduardo shoves a baby corn in his mouth, chews, and swallows. "You really got nothing wrong?" he asks. His eyes are still big.

Mark feels a small tug of accomplishment in his chest. "As far as the test goes, anyway," he says, as casually as possible.

"Wow." Eduardo is clearly impressed. "You got a perfect score on the SATs and you speak four languages. Don't tell me you sing in an acapella group, too."

Mark snorts. "You overestimate me," he says to Eduardo.

"I really doubt it," says Eduardo. "So what are they?"

"What are what?"

"The four languages." Eduardo waves his chopsticks.

"Oh," says Mark. "Well it's English, French, Greek, and Latin, but one's a dead language, one might as well be a dead language, my French accent sucks ass, and." He lifts his shoulders, forking around his food. "English."

"That's still impressive," says Eduardo.

Mark's chest flutters again.

Their conversation continues with a myriad of topics, Mark discovering that Eduardo is an economics major and has an genuine interest in meteorology, which explains the comment about the weather the other day. Eduardo's family lives in Miami but he's Brazilian born, and wants Mark to join the Jewish fraternity after Mark tells him that he's Jewish. Mark tells him that with work, classes, and thefacebook, he has better things to do with his time than embracing his culture at an enthusiastically vouched for Caribbean Night.

"Yeah, but I'm there," Eduardo says cheekily, lifting up a forkful of bean curd.

Mark says, "You're going to have to come up with better arguments than that."

And after that, after their lunch, when Eduardo says goodbye and heads back to Eliot because he needs to study, Mark begins just—thinking about Eduardo. When he's in the middle of coding for thefacebook and wondering if Eduardo will use it, will like this function. Poking around at his breakfast graciously shoved at him by Erica in the mornings after a shift, and wondering what Eduardo is doing. Eduardo isn't at the library all the times Mark is, though each time Mark comes into work, he hopes to see Eduardo around, maybe have Eduardo say hi to him again or something.

***

It's only been a few days after, mostly consisting of obsessing over thefacebook while straying over to Eduardo. Classes have started again, and students have been trickling in and out of the library, on another round of telling themselves they won't procrastinate and get ahead of the game. Mark is taking a Thursday morning circ shift and checking in overnight books, bored, when Dustin comes into the back and positively brightens when he sees Mark.

"Mark! You're on this shift," he says, and Mark nods. He'd already seen today's calendar.

"Yeah," he says, desensitizing a hardcover.

"How was your break, man? Still working on that cool website of yours?" Dustin punches Mark's shoulder lightheartedly before heading to the closet to put his backpack away.

Mark shrugs. "Yeah," he says again.

Dustin calls from the closet, "Christy told me you have a  _boyfriend_." He's grinning when he pops his head back out to look at Mark.

Mark nearly drops the textbook he's checking in and splutters. "What?" he says. He's trying to remember who Christy is.

"Yeah, she said that there was some guy who was totally into you the other day? Or you were into him, she couldn't tell." Dustin smirks as he comes back to Mark. "I didn't even know you could seduce someone with those hoodies and sweatpants of yours."

"You're wearing a Spiderman t-shirt," Mark points out. "And I don't have a boyfriend. I don't know who you're talking about." He considers. "Both with whoever Christy is, and this alleged boyfriend of mine."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Never mind." He grabs a tall stool from the table behind Mark and plops down, because none of their supervisors are in the back yet to tell him what to do. "Did you meet him at the party?"

"Again, I don't know who you're talking about," says Mark. And he realizes, "And that party was totally lame. I'm not going to any parties you invite me to again."

"Aw." Dustin pouts. "Even if I host them?"

"Especially if you host them."

"You suck," says Dustin.

"I'm pretty sure it's my job to say that to you," Mark points out. Thinking back to the party, he remembers running into Eduardo coming back, the weird mixture of warmth and cold in and out of him, from the snow and the night and Eduardo, pale yellow and dark blue. His chest twitches; he wishes he were working at the desk today in case Eduardo comes in.

"You could've found me! I would've made it awesome for you man, I always have good taste in parties."

"I have reason to doubt that," says Mark, as Carlton comes in.

Dustin gets sent off to shelf read DVD call numbers while Mark finishes checking in the overnight books, and then organizes recently processed new books, making sure that the call numbers match up and sorting out the sleeves. Erica texts him when he's getting off his shift with _Lunch today?_  With their new schedules it's been harder aligning things, since Erica has a lot more classes around noon time and Mark's been taking only early morning and late night shifts, and a lot more are in circulation this semester.

It's about nine o'clock when she texts him, and Mark's next class gets out before noon, so he texts back  _sure_.

He meets her in the library cafe again, sitting at one of the booths, poring over a book. "We could eat somewhere else, you know," he says, dropping his backpack in front of her.

She jolts up, affronted at first, but smiling at Mark anyway. "I'm used to us having lunch here," she says easily. "Why, do you have any recommendations?"

Mark shrugs, sliding into the seat across from her. "Not really," he says, because he doesn't go out as much as he would like to. The only times he does is usually to buy food from the c-store or drinks with his fake ID, which is kind of weird when he goes alone and buys a six pack for himself and his mini-fridge.

Erica chuckles. "Then I'm not really concerned," she says. "How was your break?"

Mark sighs, but Erica doesn't let him off until he debriefs her on how much he hated watching  _Friends_  and how much of thefacebook he'd worked on. He opens it up then for her to see, and she makes some suggestions on padding and margins, though it's not much. She seems satisfied with it; "I had some ideas for the header banner you asked me for over break," she says, tugging out her notebook.

They spend the rest of lunch discussing banner ideas. Mark is glad that Erica takes this as seriously as he does; it would've been easier for anyone else to sketch and give in to whatever Mark suggested rather than having an actual brain and eye for this stuff. Erica shoots down his idea of drawing his face in binary with an incredulous look: "That is the opposite of minimalism and probably the most narcissistic thing I've ever heard you say," she says.

"Thefacebook isn't minimalist," Mark tries. "And I don't even know what to say about you calling me a narcissist."

"Well, on a scale from complexity to minimalism, it definitely falls more towards minimalist, at least the way it looks now." Erica points at the scale of blues on white on Mark's computer screen, accompanied with the black text. "And it means that you admit it."

"I haven't," says Mark, but he listens to everything else she has to say, after.

She likes his logo idea, and Mark has no idea when she became his executive designer, but at this point it doesn't look like he has any choice. Lunch ends when she checks the time on her watch and says she has to run to class, so she gathers up her bag and scurries out of the booth, saying goodbye to Mark.

Their schedules don't work for them to get lunch the next day, or the day after. But on Saturday Mark has a desk shift, and he's doodling absentmindedly on a stray sheet of paper that they usually use to give to patrons for call numbers, when someone in front of him clears their throat.

Mark shoots his head up to glare—a simple  _excuse me_  could've sufficed—but it's Eduardo standing in front of him, grinning.

Mark tries to ignore the jump his chest and swallows a weird lump that had formed in his throat (Mark won't try to analyze why.) "Hi," he says, in his best  _greet the customers Mark don't make them hate themselves for existing_  voice. "How may I help you?"

His words come out kind of mocking instead.

Eduardo covers his mouth with his hands to laugh. "You sound like someone's holding a gun to your head and making you say that," he says, amused.

Mark shrugs. "I have a reputation around here," he says, which makes Eduardo laugh even more.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," he says. "Hey, when do you get off work? Do you want to get a bite afterward or something?"

The library is open only from noon to five today, and Mark's shift is that long too. He tells Eduardo, who says that that sounds perfect, since he'd had a late breakfast anyway.

"Are you sure you want to eat another meal with me?" Mark says, raising his eyebrows. "At a party I went to recently I was told I wasn't a great conversationalist."

"Was it that one in December?" Eduardo seems amused. "You're a fine conversationalist for me, don't worry."

Mark tries not to read too much into his words, or think too much about them, or let his insides jolt too much at Eduardo's words. "She tried to pour her drink on me," he points out to Eduardo.

"I'll warn you if I attempt the same thing," Eduardo says sincerely.

So when five o'clock comes and the girl who's working the super shift begins to close up the building, Mark signs out and Eduardo waits for him before they make their way out the building. The marble under their feet switches to pavement as soon as they step outside. Eduardo breathes in the cool night air, light wisps around the edge of his nostrils.

"What if we went somewhere off-campus for dinner?" he suggests to Mark.

"Where do you want to go?" Mark asks.

Eduardo has a place in mind, apparently, so he leads the way with long strides as Mark pads quickly to stay warm and keep up with him. He wonders if Eduardo has other friends—though he must, by the way that he's in so many clubs and probably reaches out to people as easily he had even to Mark. But Eduardo doesn't hang out with them every time he comes to see Mark, and he keeps finding him—well, mostly at the library—so Mark figures it's a good thing.

They end up at some sushi place that Eduardo says is good, and it's probably better than their cafe's sushi, so Mark agrees. They eat and Eduardo is easy to talk to, looking all receptive when Mark starts ranting about something stupid or other that happened at the desk earlier today, laughing and making valid points to support Mark's criticisms. Eduardo talks about his classes and how he hopes to get an internship over the summer, none of which are very interesting but Mark listens and doesn't mind anyway.

At the end of dinner, Mark kind of feels weird, suddenly—like he should pay for Eduardo's meal, or Eduardo should pay for his. It's silly, because it's not like Eduardo had asked him on a date, and they're not touching under the table, and Eduardo asks easily for two checks. And then afterward when they're walking back and arrive at the end of the street near their dorms, Eduardo says goodbye with a brief smile and a wave, and Mark is left standing there with the last of Eduardo's breath as a lingering puff in the air.

Mark isn't a complete recluse: he yells at his neighbors when they blast their country music too loud, he bitches with people in cafeteria lines when all the water in the house is cold in the morning, and one time he actually recognized a classmate from a freshman class at the library, though it's because his classmate had this noticeable mole right under his ear and Mark had spent so much of that class pondering over it that the guy's just kind of recognizable like that. He doesn't really interact with people who invite him to places, though, sans Dustin, so thusly he does not also meet other people, who can also invite him to other places.

So he is maybe caught completely off-guard when it's only two days later and Mark is zoning out at his two a.m. shift when Eduardo appears at the desk, in a jacket and a three piece suit and looking entirely too amused.

"Why are you wearing a suit, it's Monday," says Mark, in monotone.

Eduardo chuckles. "Technically it's Tuesday, and you look like you're about to drop dead," he says.

Mark nods. "That sounds about accurate," he says. "And you didn't answer my question."

Eduardo shrugs. "It's what I wear," he says. He adjusts his bag over his shoulder. "Do you get off soon?"

"If in three hours is 'soon,'" says Mark. He doesn't regret taking this early—or late—of a shift, but he has vastly underestimated his ability to keep himself entertained for four hours at a computer without Dustin around and without being allowed to work on thefacebook or troll dumb blogs (the latter because he says, "Ha!" at least every twenty minutes and it's apparently very annoying.)

"That's not soon at all." Eduardo clucks unhappily. "Why would you take a shift from two to five in the morning?"

"Why would  _you_  be in the library at two in the morning at all?" Mark asks.

"Group project, and got some studying done," says Eduardo. "So I'll—see you sometime, then?"

Mark shrugs, disappointed that Eduardo is leaving already. "Sure," he says.

Eduardo bites his lip, and seems to consider something. A second later, and he grabs one of the slips of paper in Mark's container, gets one of the pens in the cupholder beside, and scribbles something down.

"You should let me know your schedule," he says, sliding the paper over to Mark. It's a phone number. "I mean, if you want. We can do dinner or something again." He smiles.

Mark stares at the number, then back at Eduardo. "Sure," he says again, because he has no idea what to say.

Eduardo ducks down his head and turns around. "Bye," he says, glancing back at Mark one more time.

Mark kind of stares at the numbers on the piece of paper for who knows how long. It feels like the universe is playing a joke on him, but a good joke. His brain is mostly mush today from class and homework and thefacebook today, so he's not sure how to process this. Maybe he's dreaming.

He pockets the slip of paper before he forgets about it and continues on with his shift, left hand tucked into one side of the pocket and creasing and flattening it out as time drones on. When Mark gets back to his dorm afterward he takes the piece of paper out and, tiredly, sets it at his desk, next to his desktop screen. He considers it, but it's five in the morning which had been too late for Eduardo, and texting now would probably be too early, anyway.

Mark shelves it in the back of his mind under  _things I need to do_  (along with homework and maybe getting in touch with his group partners for that one project he has due next Wednesday) and redirects most of his focus to thefacebook again. Break had only accomplished so much; he still needs to buy a domain name, even though he already knows it's going to be thefacebook.com and he's been going back to NetworkSolutions at least once a week; it won't cost much, initially.

He has the window up on a library computer screen a couple of days later when the girl working the shift next to him says, "So when are you going to call him back?"

Mark's head jerks around; he recognizes the girl, kind of. It takes him a moment to realize she's the same girl from that one weekend before the end of break, the one who'd looked at him weirdly when Eduardo asked him if he wanted to eat lunch with him for the first time.

"What," Mark says intelligently.

The girl rolls her eyes. "Alice told me that the hot guy from before gave you his number the other day," she says. "I'm assuming since you're like _this_ —" and here she gestures to Mark in a way that is probably supposed to be offensive "—you haven't called him back yet."

 _Hot guy_  can only be referring to Eduardo, because he's the only relatively good-looking guy Mark has interacted with lately, or really the only guy who's given Mark his number lately.

"Who are you?" he asks the girl.

She stares at him, before huffing. "I gave you my name the first time we started working together," she says, and sounds all offended like she'd expect Mark to retain useless information like that.

"And you can give it to me again," Mark says.

"Figure it out," says the girl.

Mark blinks. "You know the shift sheet is just in the back, right? It'll take me less than a minute."

"It took me less than a minute to tell you," the girl says petulantly.

Mark rolls his eyes. "Fine, it's not like I really cared anyway," he says, muttering and turning back to staring at thefacebook.com in the textbox in front of him, the cursor blinking.

He hasn't texted or called Eduardo yet, admittedly. He deliberates with the mouse on his computer, putting the domain name in his cart, feeling for his wallet in his hoodie and finding his cellphone there, too. It's close to midnight and less patrons have been coming by lately; Carlton's already left for the day and he doesn't have much to worry about. Mark puts his wallet and cellphone out next to the computer keyboard, jitters his leg, and selects  _Purchase_  on the computer screen.

After buying the domain, he takes his cellphone and goes down the contact list to where he'd put Eduardo's name in his half-asleep state the morning after having gotten it. His fingers fumble over it, but he manages to get his wits together to type out a message.

_Hi. Are you awake?_

A second after sending it, Mark realizes that he never mentioned his own name in the message, and that it can probably come off a little creepy, especially if Eduardo really is awake.

The reply comes a few minutes later.

_Who is this?_

_Mark. I'm at work but I get off at two._

Mark feels stupid sending messages at the desk, like he's his other coworkers who actually have social lives. Not that he wants to stop, even though Eduardo's sent him all but three words so far.

His phone buzzes again.

_oh! Hi Mark. Yeah sure, I'll be on my way back from something so I can swing by the library and walk you back._

_Okay_

Mark feels excitement bubbling up inside him and makes himself tamp it down, because it's only Eduardo, and it's only going to be like a fifteen minute walk, and it's going to be in over two hours. He ignores the funny look that the girl sends him, and instead sets up the name servers for thefacebook.com and fiddles around with other stuff as he waits for his stupid shift to finish.

Eduardo arrives thirty minutes to two, in his usual three piece getup, with a briefcase over his shoulder. Mark opens his mouth when he sees Eduardo come up the stairs, but Eduardo smiles at him before turning to the girl next to him.

"Hi Christy," he says.

"Hi," says the girl from before, brightly. Christy, Mark seethes. If she'd tried to say hi to Eduardo before, then they hadn't known each other. How do they know each other now? Mark glowers at her very briefly, but then Eduardo casts his smile on Mark again.

"Hey," he says. "Exciting work shift?"

"Not really," says Mark. He glances at Christy again; she's smiling smugly at the both of them. "How do you–You two know each other?"

"Yeah, we're–" Eduardo laughs a little. "We're in the same macroeconomics class, and she told me she's seen me in the library before."

Christy looks at Mark pointedly then, which Mark thinks is completely unfair. He coughs and says, "Right."

"Right." Eduardo looks amused. "I'll go get some studying done. See you in a half an hour?"

Mark nods.

When he's gone, Christy glances back to the double doors where Eduardo has disappeared before saying to Mark, "So you did finally text him."

"And your name is Christy," Mark shoots back. "We're all happy."

Christy rolls her eyes and turns back to her computer.

***

With Eduardo in his phone now, Mark does his best to control exactly how much and how often he'll allow himself to text him, even though the only other person he really texts is Erica, and most of their conversations have to do with either meeting up at the library (one of her teachers had gone out sick this week, and Erica prodded at him enough that Mark relented to take a detour to the library just so they could eat, even though he didn't have a shift) or with Erica sending him messages of  _so did you eat breakfast yet?_  when Mark is rubbing his eyes and turning away from his computer, getting ready to sleep.

Mark tries to keep his messages to Eduardo at a minimum since it still feels weird, though only a few days later he's in the middle of a lecture and nodding off on his elbow and sends Eduardo,  _did you know that it's possible to talk about Latin definitive articles for forty minutes._

Eduardo sends back, _that sounds terribly dull,_  and Mark replies,  _it only is when you get four hours of sleep_. Eduardo sends, _I don't think that's a factor but if you want to actually enjoy hearing about definitive articles, maybe you should get some more sleep._

And then the next day Eduardo reminds him to send him his schedule, and Mark does. Eduardo decides to take advantage of Mark's day morning shift, even though he works at circulation, and says that if he wants, they can grab breakfast when Mark gets off? And something in Mark tells him that he could probably say no and Eduardo wouldn't mind, but there's no reason to when his parents and Erica would want him to get breakfast, and Eduardo had offered to come, like it wasn't maybe out of his way. So Mark agrees.

He walks out of circulation with his backpack slung over one shoulder, out to the front desk which is beyond the imperceptible wooden door at the side that leads into circulation. Eduardo is standing there with a lost look on his face.

"Hi," Mark says.

Eduardo reels back, practically jumping out of his skin. Mark smirks as Eduardo says, "Whoa – hi, where did you come from?"

Mark gestures behind him. "The back," he says vaguely.

Eduardo peers over his shoulder and then nods. "I didn't see that there earlier," he says, presumably referring to the door. "Where do you want to eat?"

Mark shrugs. "Cafe?"

Eduardo laughs. "You've suggested that before," he says, though he starts leading them towards the stairs. The collar of his jacket is tall and black against his neck, and Mark notices the way it cards into the soft of his hair.

"I don't think I've ever actually eaten at the cafe before," Eduardo continues.

Mark follows, tearing his gaze away from Eduardo. "It's not much," he admits. "There's just bagels and coffee. I think they have danishes too," he adds thoughtfully, even though he's never tried one before. He should today.

"I'm sold." Eduardo sends him a good-natured grin. "C'mon, lead the way."

They get breakfast; Mark grabs a danish and Red Bull from the open cooler, while Eduardo settles on a donut and coffee. He tuts at Mark's food choices, though he doesn't really lecture Mark on them, just watches with incredulity as Mark takes a bite out of his raspberry danish before sipping from his can.

"What?" Mark says.

Eduardo laughs a little. "Nothing," he says. "Just, are you planning on having your teeth fall out at an early age?"

Mark scowls. "No," he says. "My dad would kill me."

Eduardo arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He's a dentist," Mark explains.

For some reason, this makes Eduardo laugh again, and even harder.

So with their texting being a thing, Mark runs into Eduardo entirely more than he thought he might've earlier, because Eduardo manages to snag Mark just as he's starting his shift a couple of day later, and parades up the staircase just as Mark is getting started behind the desk, with Dustin taking one of their other coworker's shifts because she'd gone out sick today.

"Hi, Mark," Eduardo says brightly. It's ten in the evening and he's wearing jeans and a normal jacket today.

"Hi," says Mark, at the same time Dustin's head whips around and he hops off his stool to go over to Mark's side of the desk, propping his elbows up.

"Ohoho," he says, to Eduardo. "Who's this?"

"Dustin," says Mark.

Eduardo, bemused, says, "Hi. Uh, I'm Eduardo?"

"Eduardo," Dustin says with emphasis. "Are you Mark's new friend? Oh! Are you the one who keeps texting him while he's in the back and makes Mark grin like an idiot?"

"Dustin," Mark says, again. "I don't grin like an idiot. I don't do anything like an idiot."

"Sure, sure," Dustin says, patting Mark's hand.

Eduardo looks amused. "Are you not allowed to be on your phone at work?"

"No, I'm allowed," says Mark, ignoring Dustin just staring between the two of them like they're a soap opera or something. "Dustin just likes pointing out details that no one cares about."

"Excuse you," says Dustin, sounding offended. "I happen to care about them."

Mark nods at him. "My point exactly."

Eduardo continues smiling at them, and maybe he's about to say something. But then something makes Dustin's eyes light up, and then he says, "You wouldn't happen to know Christy Lee, would you? Long black hair, could probably kill all three of us in our sleep?"

"Yeah, actually," says Eduardo. "Why?"

Dustin smirks. And then he turns to Mark.

"So Eduardo's the one who–"

"Bye Dustin," says Mark, shoving Dustin back in the direction of his chair. Dustin makes a disgruntled noise, but he goes back to his computer, probably returning to whatever flash game he had been playing, and pretending not to eavesdrop on Mark and Eduardo's conversation.

"O-kay," says Eduardo. "Is there like a secret network of people at the library? Should I be worried?"

"No, you shouldn't," says Mark. He pauses. "Well, maybe you should be when Dustin's involved."

"Hey!" Dustin says indignantly.

Both Mark and Eduardo ignore him, though Eduardo's lips twitch. "Hey, so I'm gonna grab something from the cafe before I study. Want anything?"

"Anything with caffeine that's not coffee," says Mark, turning back to his computer.

Eduardo rolls his eyes. "Anything that's reasonable and probably not bad for your heart and teeth?"

"Wardo," Mark says pointedly, looking over at him. "I'm nineteen. It's not like I'm going to keel over and die because I've had too many cans of Red Bull."

Eduardo snorts. "That remains to be seen," he says. "If I got you carrots would you eat them?"

"We're not allowed to eat at the desk," says Mark.

"So that's a no?"

"Can you get me gummy worms?" Dustin asks suddenly. "And cherry coke, that would be great too."

He's joking; Mark has long learned Dustin's intonations, especially since his serious one is only reserved for cases like that girl that gave Mark the relationship status idea, and when he's trying to persuade Chris to take some women's studies class this semester in order for them to meet girls. (Chris had said he didn't want to meet girls, and Dustin has been going on rants about feminism and women's rights since the semester has started; the class has evidently accomplished something else in him, rather than letting him meet girls.)

But Eduardo doesn't really recognize it so he says to Dustin, with an easy smile, "Sure," and Mark doesn't bother clueing him in.

Mostly because Eduardo says, "I'm going to get you orange juice and carrots and you're going to deal with it." Mark scrunches his nose as Eduardo walks away, humming to himself.

Dustin swivels around on his chair immediately, once Eduardo is gone. "I like him," he says to Mark.

"Stop it," says Mark.

"Christy was right, he really is your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Mark says. His tongue feels too big and trips over the word a little. "He's getting me orange juice and carrots. I hate him."

"No you don't," Dustin says cheerfully.

Eduardo comes back, as expected, with a bundle of food, though it's really all in three bags and he sets two of them on the table. Dustin blinks open-mouthed at his, while Mark says, "Thanks for literally getting me the worst combination of healthy foods, ever."

"I got you Mountain Dew too, don't worry." Eduardo rolls his eyes. "And I'm pretty sure in order to accomplish that, I'd have needed to get you celery."

Mark can't particularly disagree with that.

Dustin says, "Mark, if you don't marry Wardo, I will."

Mark tries not to flush. "No one here is marrying anyone," he snaps.

"Why did you call me that?" Eduardo asks.

Dustin pulls out his cherry coke and bag of gummy worms. "What, 'Wardo?' Mark called you that earlier, I figured it was free dibs on a nickname or something."

Mark twitches, because it's not like he's been really consciously calling Eduardo that. It's been slipping out of his mouth as easily as it had when Mark had called him that the first time, and Eduardo always has weird reactions to it, like his eyebrows flicking or the corner of his mouth tilting up, but he's never asked Mark to stop. Now hearing it all laid out like that, by Dustin, makes Mark feel like–well, it was sort of  _his_  thing, and now it's just.  _A_  thing.

Eduardo shrugs and says, "Sure, I guess. Mark started it."

"Ah, yes, of course it was Mark's fault," Dustin says understandingly.

Mark chucks the cap of his Mountain Dew bottle at Dustin. Dustin squawks, and Eduardo laughs at the both of them.

"See you soon," he says to Mark, before leaving to the back in the reading room.

Dustin, being Dustin, bothers Mark about Eduardo, asking him how they met and when Mark is going to ask him out. Mark answers none of his questions, because Dustin is likely only projecting what Christy had told him, so his judgment is fallible and unreliable. Dustin winks at Mark when he gets off work with Eduardo. Mark flips him off.

The next day Mark has his Thursday lunch with Erica, who is swamped with work even though the semester has only barely started, and already has a bunch of her books and papers spread across the table when Mark finds her. "How am I supposed to sit with you?" he asks, annoyed.

Erica waves him off, gesturing to the booth next to her. "You can sit there," she says, without noticing that some kid is already crouching meekly in the seat.

Mark sighs and pulls out the chair from across from her. He grabs papers without looking at them and piles them together; Erica says, "Hey!" but Mark gathers them into a messy stack to the side so there's enough room for him to set his laptop down.

"I needed that." Erica scowls at him, lips pressed into an unhappy line.

Mark gestures to the pile. "And you still have it. What are you working on?"

"Research paper." Erica sighs and puts her head in her hands. "It's due next week, we've just barely started this term."

"Why don't you start it over the weekend?" asks Mark.

"Sorry, Mark, but we can't all be hardcore procrastinators like you," says Erica, though it's without any vice and she's busy rifling through her papers distractedly when she says it.

Mark rolls his eyes and boots up his computer. "Should I get your food for today then?" he asks, taking pity on her.

Erica nods. Her head is still in her hands. "Yes please."

Mark gets them both macaroni and cheese, warming the dishes up in the microwave that's next to the silverware and condiments. He plops Erica's in front of her on whatever paper she's making herself read, along with her usual water bottle.

"Thanks," Erica says grudgingly, moving the plastic aside.

They eat in silence, though Erica is much faster as Mark is trying to multitask between eating and coding, so he's mostly coding. It doesn't take long before Erica sighs and puts the paper she's been reading for fifteen minutes down and asks Mark how he's doing on thefacebook, and he tells her about the domain name and shows her how it looks so far and she promises to email him what she has of the banner over the weekend. They both have Photoshop, but Erica has seen Mark fiddle with the tools before and decided that if Mark wanted any say in the graphic, he could hover over her shoulder and tell her what to do.

Toward the end of lunch, Erica insists to him that no, he cannot skip class even if he just got struck by inspiration, he can annoy his instructors in class. Mark rolls his eyes and says, "My friend Eduardo can tell me about experimental economics, I don't need to go to class for that."

Erica raises her eyebrows as she slides her textbook into her backpack. "Who's that?" she asks.

Mark feels embarrassed, suddenly. He turns away and shoulders his backpack so she can't see his warm cheeks. "He's just–a friend," he says, because it's true. "We hang out sometimes." This is also true.

Erica looks amused as she goes over to him. "I figured," she says, nudging up against Mark's arm. "Are you going to tell me know anymore, or are you going to keep this Eduardo shrouded in mystery?"

Mark says, "He goes to Harvard," and that seems to do it for Erica, because she just smirks at him and doesn't ask for any more details. Mark feels like he's just been tested and he's not sure if he's passed. Then he reminds himself that this is Erica, who doesn't understand the function of algorithms in backend code, so it's not like it should matter, anyway.

But apparently the world is invested in Mark, or Eduardo, or the both of them or something; it's only a couple of days later when Mark is taking a morning circ shift for a sick coworker and Dustin is there, grinning when Mark's phone buzzes and asks, "Is that Eduardo?"

"I have no obligation to answer that," Mark says absently, glancing at Eduardo's,  _why do you keep taking so many torturously early morning shifts?_ He types out,  _gotta make bank._

"Maaark." Dustin goes over to him and tries to read over Mark's shoulder, but Mark strategically keeps the screen of his phone out of Dustin's line of sight.

Eduardo sends,  _yeah, but I'm not sure if normal people who want to make bank pick up shifts at five in the morning._

Mark rolls his eyes; Eduardo has a Blackberry so his texts always come a bit faster than Mark's, and Mark replies,  _if you come by afterward I can explain._  Eduardo sends him two exclamation points then, so Mark figures that's a yes.

Dustin pokes Mark's cheek, unnecessarily. "You've got a dimple," he teases. "C'mon, what did Wardo say?"

Mark is about to tell Dustin off, maybe for poking him, maybe for calling Eduardo that. But then Chris appears with an empty truck, and Dustin slides off the desk from where Mark is changing the status of preservation books (one of his least favorite jobs) and runs over to Chris.

"Chris, guess what?" he says excitedly.

"What?" Chris starts pulling books from the ILL shelf.

Dustin leans in conspiratorially. "Mark has a boyfriend," he says in an undertone.

Mark feels heat wash over his cheeks and neck. "Shut up, I do not," he says.

Dustin smirks at him. "Someone's defensive."

"Who's this not-boyfriend of Mark's?" asks Chris, filling up his truck

"Wardo," says Dustin emphatically.

Mark throws a book at him.

Chris raises his eyebrows. "Is that his real name?" he asks Mark.

And before Mark can answer, even though Dustin is recovering from the thrown book, he manages to put in, "No, that's Mark's  _nickname_  for him."

"I am quitting this job," Mark declares. "Chris, put in a good word for me at ILL."

"There's not many good words I can put in for you," Chris jokes. "Well, congratulations on the boyfriend, man." He starts to leave, having his full book of trucks.

Mark calls after him, indignantly, "He's  _not_  my boyfriend!"

"Oh, Mark," says Dustin, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Either that or he's pretending to be sympathetic, but Mark doesn't need Dustin's sympathy either way, genuine or fake. "Get yourself out of Egypt."

"My life has no place for your extended metaphors," Mark grumbles, shoving his hand off.

***

That day Mark has no time to meet with either Erica nor Eduardo, since he has to study for a systems class, and Eduardo is apparently neck-deep in an essay that he texts Mark in the middle of his studying that he'll be busy all day. Erica doesn't contact him at all either, which means she's nowhere near Harvard's campus; and Mark doesn't notice Eduardo's text until he's resurfacing from his book and sees  _1 New Notification_  on the front screen of his phone, of a message that had been sent nearly four hours ago.

Mark's exam the next day goes well in his opinion, and Eduardo says he can take a break to meet up with him right afterward, so they meet up outside of Dworkin, Mark bounding down the stairs and finding him out there. Eduardo is in his usual long dark overcoat, hands tucked into his pockets. He sticks out against the stark white snow, and has an earbud in one of his ears.

"Hi," Mark says. Eduardo smiles; he had been when he'd seen Mark coming towards him through the glass doors.

"Hi," Eduardo says back, taking his earphones off. He wraps it around his iPod. "How was it?"

"My test?" Mark rolls his eyes. "Kids' stuff. Where do you want to eat?"

"We could get pizza," Eduardo suggests, which Mark recognizes as Eduardo-talk for 'I'm craving pizza right now, I will probably pout if you suggest otherwise.' "What exactly about computer science involves kids' stuff?"

Mark waves a hand. "Mostly loops and structs, I thought it'd be harder." He thinks for a moment. "There's like, three pizza places around here. Which one did you want to go to?"

Eduardo leads the way, and asks more about Mark's test, even though Mark knows that Eduardo knows little to nothing about programming and understands none of this. Eduardo humors him by making him talk though, and Mark humors him by talking. It's an easy dynamic, because usually people tell Mark to shut up when he goes on about something they're too stupid for, or they stare at him blankly like they're watching paint dry. The way Eduardo looks at him when he talks, though, does not make Mark feel like he is a piece of white plaster trying to entertain spectators.

Somehow that makes their conversation lead into how Mark had learned programming in the first place, and being called a genius by the tutor his father hired, and Eduardo whistles, impressed. Mark can't keep the smug grin from his face when Eduardo says, "I'm eating pizza with the future ruler of the world, aren't I?"

Mark rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his cheese slice. "I have no interests in being president," he says, through his chewing. "But if you mean the cyber equivalent of that, then yes, maybe."

"I'm surprised you're not doing anything to get the attention of the final clubs," Eduardo says casually.

Mark shrugs. "It started off that way," he says, poking at an air bubble on his pizza. "But thefacebook is bigger than that. It's better than a final club." He chews thoughtfully. "Though Theodore Roosevelt did get elected president because he was a member of the Porcellian."

"I heard." Eduardo looks amused. "Do I get the second profile on thefacebook? Or is that reserved for someone else?"

Mark's gaze jerks to him. He hadn't really thought about it, though the order he'd had in his head was mostly people in his work and letting it spread out from there, and then moving onto BU so Erica could join. He hadn't really thought about Eduardo being on as early as he and maybe Dustin, but—it makes sense, when he's more or less been talking about it with Eduardo lately, amongst other things.

He shrugs. "Sure," he says, and Eduardo looks satisfied.

"Don't tell me this is the only big computer project you've done," he says, munching on his pizza crust. Eduardo likes pizza crust, which is a mystery that Mark has no intention of understanding.

"In high school I made an app that recognizes your taste in music," Mark says as off-handedly as he can. He pokes the air bubble on his pizza again, before eating it.

Eduardo nods, wide-eyed and impressed. "Wow," he says. "Don't tell me no one tried to buy that from you?"

Mark shrugs again. "Microsoft did. But I uploaded it for free."

Eduardo leans back in his chair, and Mark is sufficiently pleased with himself.

But then Eduardo says, "I made 300 thousand dollars over the summer betting oil futures."

Mark does not choke on his pizza, although he comes close. "Three hundred  _thousand_?" he says, grabbing for his soda.

"Yep," says Eduardo. "If you can predict the weather, you can predict the price of heating oil." He smiles, as Mark tries to wrap his head around that Eduardo, beyond just having weird interests and being overly friendly, is less useless than his interests may imply.

"Wow," says Mark. "I guess there's a job in liking meteorology, than just becoming a weatherman."

Eduardo laughs and picks at the vegetables on his pizza. "That's what I wanted to be when I was little," he says, grinning up at Mark. "Whenever we'd watch the weather channel, I'd tell my mae and pai that I wanted to be like the guy on the screen. They told me that I could do better."

His eyes get a little wistful at that, but in the sort of way that scares Mark, like they might have a conversation that will make Mark incredibly uncomfortable.

He veers away from that direction. "And then you proved it to them otherwise last summer," he says to Eduardo pointedly.

Eduardo's face brightens up again. "That I did," he says happily.

They finish their food and pay, before clearing their table. As they make their way to the door, Mark wonders absently what Eduardo is doing after this—if he is doing anything after this. They've never really broken that barrier of after-meals together, and if Mark is being honest with himself, all of these things feel ritualistic, routine, like they're so used to leaving so early and having things being easy at that that they don't dare try to break it.

But before Mark can maybe ask Eduardo, or suggest for them to do something afterward, even though all Mark can really think of is Eduardo joining him back at Kirkland and studying on Mark's bed (he has another paper due soon, apparently) while Mark works on thefacebook, Eduardo turns to him.

"See you around? Or maybe tomorrow when you're at work," he says, eyes twinkling.

 _Tomorrow._  Tomorrow is Saturday, and Mark remembers Erica texting him that she'll be free in the evening, along with a badly disguised suggestion that they should get dinner tomorrow.

Eduardo's already met Dustin, and—well, Mark has mentioned both Erica and Eduardo to each other. He doesn't think they'll hate each other; Erica might even talk Eduardo into making Mark eat with him for every meal, to make sure that he eats.

"Uh, actually," Mark says, stumbling over his words a little. "I'm going to meet my friend Erica for dinner tomorrow. If you want to come?" he adds.

Eduardo blinks. The expression on his face is hard to read, and Mark kind of fidgets from where they're standing outside of the pizza place.

"Sure," Eduardo says. His smile is hesitant. "Is that after your work then?"

Mark nods quickly. "Yeah. You can—We're meeting at the Thirsty Scholar, but you can come by the library and we can walk together?"

"Sounds good." Eduardo's face relaxes, though Mark hadn't realized how tense it was, before. "See you then," he says, beginning to turn.

"Bye Wardo," Mark calls.

Eduardo glances back at him. Mark feels a tug of victory in his chest.

***

So Eduardo comes into the library twenty minutes before his shift ends the next day, chewing on his lip but looking cheerful. "Hey," he says to Mark, at the desk.

"Wardo." Mark doesn't look up from his computer; he's in the middle of a typing game, and some fucker is at the top spot already, and Mark's been trying to beat them. They have to be a bot, because there's no way any normal human being could be capable of over 250 words per minute.

"What are you doing?" Eduardo asks, looking between Mark and the computer. "Are you coding?"

Mark snorts. "No," he says, but leaves it at that. "Erica says she'll meet us at the Thirsty Scholar at six, so we can take our time after my shift."

Eduardo chews his bottom lip, but he nods. "Okay," he says. "I'll be in the reading room then."

"'Course you will," Mark mutters as Eduardo leaves.

Mark doesn't manage to beat the bot before the end of his shift, but keeps his teeth grinding to a minimum as he and Eduardo head out of the building and out toward the Yard. The air is chilly and biting as January draws to a close. Mark is particularly looking forward to the spring, where he can wear shorts and flip-flops without garnering half as many looks as he gets (though for the most part it's not like he cares too much when he gets them in the winter.) Plus, he doesn't have allergies like the rest of his family.

Eduardo asks, as they walk along the lightly dusted sidewalk, "So how did you meet Erica?" He pops the collar of his jacket, which should make him look like an asshole, but he kind of looks good like that, too.

Mark rolls his eyes. "At the libraryâ€”"

"Of course," Eduardo snickers.

Mark elbows him, and Eduardo just continues grinning at him. "I was working on thefacebook last semester and she was asking me if there were any quiet places she could study," he says. "Except I was in the middle of a string so I didn't really pay any attention to her at first, and then she pulled my monitor back and criticized my CSS." He crinkles his nose. The site still would've functioned perfectly fine even with a weird blue color palette.

Eduardo smiles. "And then after that she asked you on a date?"

"What? No." Mark sends Eduardo a quick look. "I mean, we get food a lot, but I'm pretty sure she would rather gouge her eyes out than go on a date with me." He ponders thoughtfully over that image.

"We get food a lot too," Eduardo says to Mark pointedly.

"Yeah," says Mark, glancing at him again. "So?"

Eduardo doesn't elaborate, and they end off on some conversation about the organization of Harvard's campus anyway, compared to BU's, which Eduardo has never stepped foot on ("I wanted to look when I first visited Harvard, but my parents didn't think it was good enough") and Mark has only been to once, when Erica made him walk her back when he didn't have any classes afterward and Mark had gotten lost on his way back.

The Thirsty Scholar is, as usual, dingy and filled with students. Erica's friend the door guy greets them with a nod, and Eduardo nods back as Mark ignores him and looks around for Erica.

"Should we wait, then?" Eduardo asks, glancing around.

Mark spots Erica at a booth toward the back, head bent down and working on something, a beer in front of her. "No, she's here," he says, because Erica is worse than punctual and always makes Mark look bad.

Eduardo follows as Mark leads them to her, sliding into the seat across from her and tossing his backpack down. Erica nearly jumps from scribbling in her notebook, jerking her head up.

"Geez," she says to Mark. "You scared me."

Mark rolls his eyes and slides in.

Erica glances at Eduardo then, and her face goes into polite smile mode, though there's at least an ounce of sincerity in there. "Hi," she says to him. "You must be Eduardo."

"And you must be Erica," Eduardo says lightly, sitting next to Mark. "What are you working on?"

"Boring paper on color theory I bet," Mark says, rolling his eyes.

Erica kicks him from under the table. "It's an English paper," she says to Eduardo. "Do you guys want to get drinks?"

"Yeah, sure." Eduardo glances at Erica's beer. "Are they gonna cardâ€”"

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," says Erica. She calls up a passing guy wearing an apron and orders drinks for Mark and Eduardo. Eduardo watches them funnily.

Mark leans over to say to Eduardo in a low undertone, "She slept with the door guy, so weâ€”"

"What rumors are you spreading about me?" Erica asks casually, turning back from the guy.

Mark yanks himself back and tries to meet her eyes. "Nothing," he says.

Eduardo looks caught between worried and amused.

Erica hurriedly finishes whatever she's been working on, before putting her papers away and shuffling them into her backpack. "So," she says to Eduardo, looking at him while she does this. "How did you and Mark meet then? I know from experience that it's pretty hard to like him at first, so it must've been an accident."

Eduardo laughs, while Mark feels himself blush. He scowls at Erica, who looks undeterred.

"It was more of a coincidence, really," says Eduardo. "He was working at the library—"

"Of course," says Erica.

"I'm not sure how I feel about having a discussion about me happening right in front of me," Mark says loudly.

Eduardo ignores him. "—and he made fun of my reading choices," he says, amid their interruptions. "That's what started it off."

Erica, who is taking a sip of her beer, snorts emphatically. "Somehow none of that surprises me," she says. "So you go to Harvard too, then? What's your major?"

"Economics."

"Ah," Erica says, a wave of understanding passing over her face. "That explains the experimental economics comment."

"The—?" Eduardo tilts his head, caught between confusion and amusement.

Mark's face heats up again. "I had merely expressed to her that you were more than eloquent in experimental economics once, and that I could skip class and have you explain it to me instead," he says, before Erica can explain her version of the events and likely butcher everything.

Erica snickers, and Eduardo says, "Of course."

Erica continues asking Eduardo questions, like things he does outside of just going to classes (most of which Mark already knows), and other unimportant things like his favorite color, music, and movies (most of which Mark actually doesn't know, but tries not to let any evidence show on his face.) They find kinship in popular books and music like  _Harry Potter_  and Britney Spears, so while they wait for their food to arrive—Mark had ordered his usual, and was lost when Eduardo asked for recommendations that Erica had rolled her eyes before jumping in—the conversation veers off-track to boring pop culture stuff that Mark either doesn't know about or doesn't care for.

"I really don't think Harry and Hermione are going to happen," Erica says to Eduardo. "Sure, they get along fine, but—"

"We saw from the most recent book that neither of them have very stable relationships with Ron," Eduardo points out.

"They're only fourteen, though? That's what character development is about—"

"Let's say you're both wrong and stop arguing about children's books," Mark says, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his beer.

Erica turns to him, looking kind of angered, but Eduardo smiles at him and says, "Okay. What do you want to talk about, Mark?"

Mark blinks, then shrugs. "What do we usually talk about?"

And what he and Eduardo usually talk about usually range from Mark ranting about work or going on about thefacebook, or Eduardo pondering over the weather or stock market changes. But as soon as he mentions thefacebook Erica issues a ban over discussion over "Mark's brainchild" for the entire dinner, and Eduardo, amused, veers off into discussing what he and the rest of the Harvard Investors Association have been up to.

Mark, as usual, pays a varying amount of interest and mostly plays with the perspiration on his glass. Erica, meanwhile, leans forward like she's actually listening to everything Eduardo says and understanding everything.

When Eduardo is done with whatever spiel he's on, Erica says, "I've got to be honest with you, I understood probably less than half of what you just said."

"It's okay," Eduardo says good-naturedly, smiling. "Mark usually does, too."

Mark lifts his head up at the sound of his name. "I understand most of the stuff you say," he says defensively.

Both Erica and Eduardo snort. "Yeah, right," Erica says.

Their food arrives and the conversation moves to movies and tv shows, which Mark can actually contribute to because his sisters had dragged him out to the movie theater during winter recess, and try as he might, being an internet cretin drives you the farthest thing from being a pop culture recluse.

It all goes quite well at first, with the way Eduardo smirks at whatever judgment or opinion Mark has for all the movies that had come out recently, and Mark and Erica getting into a rather heated debate over the last  _Lord of the Rings_  movie, as compared to the book. But then their food comes and then they're talking about romcoms, which Erica and Eduardo are rather vocal enthusiasts of, and Mark (for the most part) is not hugely fond.

"And it's like, you could do a better title than just  _Along With_ ," Mark snipes, dipping his fry in his ketchup angrily. "I don't rag on titles that have a characters' name in them—"

"You are right now," Eduardo says unhelpfully.

"—but two prepositions and then a characters' name? It's scraping the bottom of the creative barrel." Mark shoves the french fry in his mouth.

"Who cares," says Erica, rolling her eyes.

"Plus the chemistry between the actors was—" Mark makes a gagging noise, which is not exactly nice-sounding when he's in the middle of eating food. "I can't believe my sisters made me watch that," he grumbles.

Eduardo says, "I thought it was cute."

"It was nice," Erica adds. "It made me happy."

"Some of the character aspects were questionable," says Eduardo, "but the lighting—"

And then they're off talking about other things that Mark doesn't care about, so Mark just focuses on eating his sandwich and finishing his drink. When he's done most of his food and Erica and Eduardo are still talking about romcoms—they're talking about the actors who have chemistry, which would be interesting and all if they actually made decent movies, in Mark's opinion—Mark glances between them to see if he has room in this conversation.

Eduardo and Erica getting along—bonding over pop culture, of all things—doesn't quite bother Mark, because they can talk about something and don't expect him to contribute, and Mark tends to like people better when they don't put expectations on him. But this is their first grouping together and Mark doesn't have his computer to distract him, so he is getting very bored, very quickly.

As Erica makes a comment on Ryan Gosling's features that seem to have nothing to do with his acting (which she has  _never_  done around Mark before), Mark finally hits that tipping point.

"Okay, great," he cuts in, startling them both. "My best friend approves of you," he says to Eduardo. "Can we move on?"

A weird expression comes over Eduardo's face, but Erica just snorts into her drink. "Why are we friends with him," she says to Eduardo, who seems to recover from whatever-it-is quickly and snickers.

Mark says dryly, "I never asked you to be friends with me," and the expression Eduardo and Erica share is nothing short of fond.

The rest of dinner doesn't go too badly, though for some reason Eduardo sends Mark this particular look once or twice like he doesn't know what to make of him, even though they've been like this for a while now. They talk about classes and professors and schoolwork, weird things they've seen on the T late at night and bad Harvard Square restaurant experiences.

Afterward, they say their goodbyes, and Erica heads back to BU's campus. Mark and Eduardo walk back, Mark with one hand in his pocket, only a little buzzed from the mixture of food and beer.

"That was nice," Eduardo says pleasantly, like he means it, not as though he's trying to appease to Mark.

Mark scuffles his flip-flops on the ground as they walk along the pavement. "I suppose," he says.

"I'm glad you're introducing me to your friends." Eduardo's shoulder bumps his, though it might be an accident. "They're nice."

"You're nice, too," Mark says without thinking.

Eduardo's face gets that look again, but it disappears within a second and he suddenly mentions the weather.

***

Work on thethefacebook continues, though Mark makes sure to be punctual at the library. Eduardo swings by as often as he does, smiling at Mark if he can't stay long, or waiting in the reading room if they're going to meet up afterward. It's always meals, because Eduardo always has classes or some club to go to afterward (he'd invited Mark to the Valentine's Day event at AEPi, which Mark had scoffed at), or they just don't say where they're heading afterward and say goodbye right outside the entrance to Kirkland, and don't do otherwise.

It takes Erica a week before she actually bothers Mark about Eduardo, sending Mark a text as he's falling asleep at the desk one morning, buzzing him out of his daze. He hopes for a stupid second that it's Eduardo—but her name flashes on the screen, instead.

_so how's eduardo?_

Mark blinks at the text.

_Alive?_

_good to know. have you made a move on him yet?_

Mark's cheeks feel hot, as do his shoulders and the upper part of his arm. He thinks about answering with a very definitive no, or even better, a response of bafflement and incredulity; but then a patron comes, and Mark decides that the best course of action is to not answer at all.

The patron comes over to his desk, which Mark dreads the most; they could easily go to his coworker. He force himself to smile, though he would not be surprised if it come out as a grimace, with the way that the big blond and beefy's face goes a little confused.

"Hi, can I help you?" he says.

The patron looks vaguely familiar; so does his companion, who looks exactly like him. It takes a second for Mark to realize that they've been patrons before—though, like most, that's all he has.

"Hi," says the one who had come up to him. "You're Mark Zuckerberg, right? You made Coursematch and that music app in high school?"

"Uh." Mark blinks. He didn't know students just roamed around campus knowing fun facts about him. "Yeah," he says.

"Cameron Winklevoss," says big blond and beefy 1.0.

"Tyler Winklevoss," says the other one, from behind him.

Mark glances between them. "Are you guys related?"

"Funny," says one.

"Never heard that one before," says the other.

Mark stares at them, waiting for them to go on. They both stare back, before the first one—Cameron, Mark decides, though he's not entirely sure—clears his throat and recasts his gaze on Mark.

"We have an idea we'd like to talk to you about," he says. "When do you get off work?"

Mark shrugs. "In a couple of hours," he says vaguely. "What kind of idea?"

"For a website," says the other. "Match dot com for—"

"Tyler," says the one Mark had deemed as Cameron. Mark considers this a personal victory, though he's probably going to forget which one is which in a few minutes.

"Match dot com," Mark muses. "That sounds interesting, but I'm in the middle of a project right now. So I'm afraid the answer is no."

Still-Tyler kind of splutters, while still-Cameron's face goes through a series of emotions until he says, "We haven't even proposed our idea to you yet."

"So?" Mark says. "If your brother's leading it with  _match dot com_ ," and he looks at Tyler pointedly, "it's probably not a good idea. Plus," he waves his hand at his computer, though he isn't working on thefacebook, just some dumb dinosaur game Dustin had got him hooked on a couple of days back, "other project. So."

He shrugs again, because he's not really allowed to say  _fuck you_  while at work.

"I." Cameron, to his credit, does not splutter like his brother. "Okay," he says, after a moment.

Mark inclines his head. "Okay."

"Have a good day," Cameron says, in what sounds like a struggle to be a cordial tone. Mark watches them walk off, smiling to himself.

He's doubled up on shifts today, unfortunately, so despite the occurrence it's not exactly a good day. After his morning break he has a class ten minutes away, and right afterward a bit after noon, his second shift starts. Carlton watches him come into the back with a vague amused expression on his face.

"How's your website thing going?" he asks, because he had asked about Mark's obsessive watch over dropped shifts in the beginning of the semester.

Mark shrugs. "It's got enough servers so far," he says, though it's only because no one has an account yet to really strain the userbase. Mark thinks forlornly to the money he has saved up and is glad his parent's won't grind him too hard if he charges a bunch of his c-store money to his university's bill.

"I have no idea what that means," Carlton says cheerfully. "C'mon, you're shelf reading DVDs for a while."

Midway through Mark's shelf reading (which is boring and makes the numbers blur in front of him), Mark's phone vibrates. Grateful, he flips it open immediately.

_getting out of class early. Want to meet up for dinner?_

_yes my shift ends at 4_ , Mark types, and sends it back almost immediately.

Eduardo doesn't text back, but Mark's insides jitter anyway. His mind, being routine, jumps from Eduardo to thefacebook, and when Mark comes back to circulation he has the code clear in his head and behind his eyes and scribbles it all down on a stray sheet of paper before he loses it. Carlton looks at him funny as he assigns Mark to his next job, but says nothing.

So right after work, Mark hops on his computer immediately, still running with inspiration and adrenaline all at once. He doesn't remember how much he actually gets done, because before he knows it his head is swimming with sleep, his cheek is sticky, and Mark realizes that his face is pressed against a wooden table in the reading room, and his eyes are half-closed.

Something is in his hair, though not really a pressure to tick Mark off. He's still asleep a little so it takes him a moment to realize that it's brushing Mark's fringe away from his eyes, tucking a curl behind his ear with care. Through his eyelashes the image is blurry, but Eduardo is close enough to be distinctive.

Mark's stomach jumps at the realization, though in a soft way because Mark is quite comfortable here with his sticky cheek, dead fingers, and hunched shoulders. Maybe he should've gotten more than two hours of sleep last night. Eduardo remains in front of him—Mark flits his eyes half-open briefly to see that he's sitting across from him—and he's watching Mark with a smile, though he doesn't seem to notice the movement of Mark's eyelids.

Mark lets himself lie down for another pathetic second, before coughing and rising up on his elbows. His head feels so heavy. "You're here," he mumbles, mouth thick.

Eduardo's smile just gets bigger. "Hi," he says.

Mark rubs at his eyes. He should've given himself more time. "How long have you been here?" he asks, wondering if he should feel more tired or embarrassed.

Eduardo shrugs. "Not too long."

"You should've waken me up." Mark yawns and looks at his computer. It's dead.

"I couldn't do that. You looked so peaceful," Eduardo teases, and actually pokes Mark's cheek. Mark scowls at him in an attempt to intimidate him, or something, but Eduardo just looks even more amused.

"Yeah, whatever," Mark grumbles, putting his backpack away. "Where do you want to eat?"

They settle on the cafe, because Eduardo apparently has a meeting or something or other right afterward, and it's close to the library. Mark yawns again as Eduardo orders his food, before moving up to get his usual tuna salad sandwich.

Eduardo is—normal, to say the least, through their lunch. But in Mark's state of fatigue, he begins to notice little things he hasn't noticed before: Eduardo leaning towards him when he laughs, smiling when Mark makes an inane comment, nudging him under the table or maybe bumping a bit too close when they finish and get up to move elsewhere. Mark had thought that maybe it was just Eduardo being weird—he really can't think of a time while he and Eduardo had interacted when Eduardo hadn't looked like existing was the best thing in the world—but Mark is beginning to think that maybe it's not existing, but  _him_. That Eduardo thought that Mark is the best thing in the world.

Mark isn't going to toot his own horn—plenty of people back at Exeter hate him, and a while back when he was getting drunk by himself in his own dorm room and had an idea for a website, he'd texted it to Erica and she threatened to castrate him if he went through it. (Admittedly, now that he looks back on it soberly, comparing how attractive Harvard girls are is not a good idea.)

But Eduardo really likes him for some godforsaken reason, and the weird flipping feelings in Mark's chest make sense, if he feels the same way. Which, now that he thinks about it. Is likely.

***

February sweeps in entirely too quickly, and Mark and Eduardo meet up just as regularly, and Mark lets himself actually be  _excited_  to see Eduardo again. He looks forward to seeing Dustin at work, too (who is still engrossed in the dinosaur game; listening to him play and swear loudly whenever he messes up is probably the best thing ever), and Erica on Thursdays, though it's really not the same, now that he notices it.

He thinks about talking to Erica about it, though he doesn't know what to say. It's embarrassing to do face-to-face, but over text would probably be annoying for the both of them, and then Erica would tell him that they should discuss it in person anyway, so going into the conversation with her knowing full well what's going on might be even worse. Erica would probably know more about this, but—Mark crinkles his nose at work as he deliberates over it.

The patron he's supposed to be attending to looks at him funnily.

It is Thursday, so he meets with her as usual at the cafe. Erica has stopped asking him about making a move on Eduardo, thankfully, though Mark kind of wishes she would start again so he would have an excuse for bringing Eduardo up.

He makes himself work through thefacebook, though he's still distracted by Eduardo, even though Eduardo's not even  _here_. Liking people is exhausting. But if Mark is behaving weirder today, Erica doesn't comment on it.

They go through lunch, as usual. When the urge to pee overcomes Mark, he jerks out of his seat and goes to the men's room, relieving himself and trying to relieve his head.

It works, a little bit. But he's thinking about Eduardo again and approaching Erica, and thefacebook is wide open on his computer.

"Erica," he says suddenly.

Erica looks up.

Mark thinks,  _I like Wardo and I need your help_. But what comes out of his mouth is:

"Do you want to be my COO?"

Erica blinks.

"COO," she repeats.

This is not what Mark had in mind, but he is grateful for the slip up because this is better than expressing  _feelings_ , at the least. "Yeah," he says. "And my head of design, or both, or either. You can get twenty percent," he adds.

"Twenty percent?" Erica's eyes go big. "Isn't that like—a lot? I've barely done anything."

"Well as COO you can overlook business stuff once thefacebook becomes monetized, tell me what to do, handle other important stuff." Mark gestures to his computer. "And you're pretty much already the head of design, I don't know why I didn't ask you sooner."

"Wow," says Erica. "Well, um. I'll think about it. But thank you, Mark." Her eyes go soft and she smiles at him.

Mark rolls his eyes but feels pleased, anyway. This is barely better than expressing feelings, but he doesn't mind it all that much.

Eduardo is his problem to deal with, anyway. Kind of. Mark alludes to it kind of with Dustin, but more with:

"If someone invites me to a Valentine's Day event, does that mean they're hitting on me?"

Dustin stares at him for a moment. "I mean, dude," he says. "Yeah."

"Oh." Mark kind of wishes he'd said yes.

And Dustin doesn't stop there; he gets all interested and spins towards Mark, waggling his eyebrows. "What's the event? Who asked you?"

"It's just the Jewish fraternity," Mark says, waving a hand.

"Ooh, I'm Jewish," says Dustin, even though Mark already knows that. "I should go."

"Get someone to ask you first," Mark says sarcastically.

But that's pretty much Mark's frame of reference. He's been wrong about people, but he's been right before too. He gears up to try to tell Erica about his newfound feelings about Eduardo a couple of days later, but somehow their conversation makes it to the Thirsty Scholar, and Mark finds himself saying, "The only way we can sit and get drinks there is because you slept with the door guy."

"The door guy." Erica bares her teeth, like she's trying to prevent herself from physically biting Mark. Which Mark would not put past her. "I have not slept with—his name is  _Bobby_ , Mark, and how could you even--"

"Why would let us in? Why would he not get someone to card us?"

"Because he is a  _friend of mine_." Erica bites down, her nostrils flaring. "Just because I'm a girl—"

"I didn't say it was because you were a girl," Mark interrupts. "Or—"

"Mark," Erica says, cutting him off effectively. "I think you need to shut up right now."

Mark pauses, for maybe a second. But then he says, "Seriously, Erica, why would he—"

"Mark," Erica says again. "I'm going to go, and think about if I want to be your COO again." The look that she gives him is piercing. "Meanwhile, please rethink your perspective of women."

She leaves, and Mark stares at her retreating back, her words playing over in his head. He does regret what he'd said to her, about an hour later, and texts her,  _sorry_  because there's only so much earnestness you can convey when someone doesn't want to see you face-to-face.

She doesn't reply over the weekend, but on Monday she sends,  _canceled class today, if you want to get dinner._  Mark agrees, and is pretty sure he deserves it when Erica makes him greet the door guy—Bobby—and say hi to Christy who is working the evening shift with him afterward, and looks entirely too pleased.

***

So Mark is wrong about people, and somehow between that doesn't have the balls to mention Eduardo to Erica even afterward. Eduardo is his business, he reasons. Maybe he needs to have the balls to mention it to Eduardo himself. Whether he's wrong or not—he can see himself through the consequences, Eduardo is too much of a smiler for it to be a big deal.

Eduardo meets up with him so regularly that they don't text about it anymore, Eduardo just shows up, to get meals with him, or just to walk back when he's on his way from a similar direction. Even when Mark's working circ, like today, Eduardo stands outside—a little bit away from the desk, but not right outside the circ door like a creepy person. Mark walks out and Eduardo turns to him immediately, with a full-watt smile.

"Hi," Eduardo says. "How was work?"

"Good," Mark says absently.

"I actually have a book on hold—" Eduardo gestures to the desk, "—so it'll be just a second."

"Yeah," Mark says.

And it feels kind of now or never for him, even though Mark doesn't really believe in that, but as they stand their waiting for Eduardo's book, it's suddenly the  _time_.

"Wardo," he says, careful not to let his tongue tie. "Do you want to get dinner on—" he rifles through his schedule through his head "—uh, tomorrow?"

Eduardo blinks at him, but his smile doesn't falter. "Sure," he says easily, just as the desk worker checks out his book and hands it to him.

Mark bites his bottom lip, nodding. Then he realizes that it probably just sounds like the rest of their meals and not-dates, so he hesitates before adding, "I meant, like, as a date. With me."

"Oh," says Eduardo.

For a moment Mark is terrified that he misjudged horribly.

But then Eduardo smiles so big it looks like his cheeks hurt. Mark's heart leaps in his throat.

"Okay," says Eduardo.

Mark is disappointed that they're only walking back together today, though he doesn't know how he would deal otherwise; Eduardo keeps glancing at him through the light flurry of Boston snow, grinning like a maniac. Mark asks him once, "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" trying to sound annoyed, even though he's really not.

"Nothing," Eduardo says unconvincingly.

They don't really talk on their way back, though it's nice and easy, in a familiar way. And in a way that isn't, too, because Eduardo definitely presses up against him more and makes a comment on Mark's cold hands because their knuckles keep brushing up against each other. This is definitely new.

Eduardo pauses when they leave to say goodbye to each other, so Mark forces out, "Bye," first and scurries away to Kirkland. He gets a text later that night that says,  _looking forward to tomorrow :)_

Eduardo has never used an emoticon in a text message before. Mark feels betrayed.

***

One of Mark's late night shifts is the next day, so instead of meeting at the library, Mark asks Eduardo if he wants to meet outside of Kirkland in the late afternoon. Eduardo had said yes, and now Mark is watching him come over from Eliot, feeling completely out of depth.

Eduardo comes up to him like usual, despite that Mark has never initiated for them to meet up before, especially nowhere near the library. Eduardo is beaming, and a scarf is whipping around his neck, because it's still February and cold.

"Hi," Eduardo says, like he's had a particularly good day.

Mark shifts from foot to foot. "Hi," he says, trying to meet Eduardo's eyes and finding himself a little terrified at how they crinkle immediately.

They begin walking. "So," says Eduardo. "Where are we eating?"

Mark blushes, because he's been working on thefacebook all day and actually thinking of a place to go in advance had slipped his mind entirely. Before, if Eduardo didn't have a place in mind, they'd either wing it or go to one of their usual places.

"I have no idea," he says honestly.

Eduardo throws his head back and laughs. "Of course," he says, though he sounds fond, so Mark isn't irritated by it. "That's okay, it'll still be a date, right?" He grins at Mark.

Mark's heart is thumping so loud and he can't help himself from smiling back. "Yeah," he says.

They go to a grill down on JFK, which neither of them have been to before. It feels like a regular meal, aside from that Eduardo can't seem to stop smiling at Mark that Mark doesn't really pay attention to how the food tastes. It's probably not that bad, though the only thing Mark does pay attention to is how disconcerting it feels drinking a milkshake with a skull and crossbones flag poking out of it.

"So," Eduardo says, over dessert. Mark hadn't really wanted dessert but their waiter was annoying and insisted, and Eduardo (unfortunately) had expressed interest in their kahlua-laced chocolate ice cream. "What brought on this request to a date?"

Mark's cheeks redden, and he focuses on slurping his milkshake loudly. "What do you think?" he says to the pirate flag.

Eduardo nudges his foot under the table. Mark kicks him back, and Eduardo ducks his head down to laugh a little.

"Maybe I just want to hear you say it," he says to Mark.

"You can imagine it," Mark says. "You've got a good imagination, don't you?"

Eduardo laughs again. "I like you, Mark," he says, like it's not the scariest thing in the world.

Mark's cheeks get hotter and he slurps his milkshake some more.

Eduardo seems to enjoy his own dessert, and even though he complains about it being a bad idea and how full he is, he finishes it anyway. When the waiter asks how many checks they want, Mark says, "One."

Eduardo looks at him funnily. "Are you paying?" he asks, after the waiter nods and goes away.

Mark gives him a look. "Obviously, Wardo. I asked you out on this date."

"But." Eduardo bites his bottom lip, glancing between Mark and his milkshake. "You've been saving up money for thefacebook, Mark, and you know I can afford it—"

"Shut up," Mark interrupts. "I can take out money for a dinner out with someone that I like."

He realizes his slip up the moment a smile breaks across Eduardo's face, which is very immediate and makes Mark's face go hot again. "You said it," he says to Mark, looking entirely too smug. "I don't have to use my imagination."

"Ugh." Mark rolls his eyes and tries very hard not to smile. He fails.

So he pays for the forty dollar meal, and tells himself it's like buying thefacebook domain name all over again, except better because Eduardo keeps giving him these imploring looks and Mark lets him cover the tip. Eduardo leaves a twenty dollar bill on the table.

"That was half the price of our entire meal," Mark says, as they walk out. "That was a fifty percent tip."

Eduardo smirks. "Oops."

They walk back, closer than usual. Because Eduardo has Mark's schedule memorized (apparently), he knows that Mark has a work shift tonight. So they head to Widener's steps, and Mark is tempted to ask if Eduardo can stay for a bit, or meet up after; but Eduardo says, "I have a Business Investor's meeting tonight." He looks entirely too pained as he says this.

It assures Mark a bit, but he still wishes Eduardo could stay longer. "Okay," he says, nodding once.

Eduardo reaches out and laces his fingers through Mark's, without warning. "This was nice," he says. "Will I see you later?"

Mark rolls his eyes. "You see me all the time, Wardo," he says.

Eduardo laughs. "I do," he says, and then he's leaning in and kissing Mark on the lips.

It's chaste, and nice, and also a warm relief from the cold biting at their faces. Mark tries to press back in time as a proper response, but Eduardo pulls back too quickly for his liking.

"See you," he says, and there's a little color to his cheeks. He squeezes Mark's fingers once before turning and disappearing down the library steps.

Mark walks into work in a daze, especially with the change from pitch black night to the low orange glow at the library. Dustin's already at the desk, and clucks to Mark, "You're five minutes late."

"Yeah," Mark says, not really paying any attention. He sits in his usual desk chair and stares at the computer screen for a few moments.

Dustin notices. "Mark," he says, hopping down and walking over to him. "Mark." He jostles him.

Mark snaps out of his mind, though it doesn't really feel like he'd been thinking of anything in particular.

"Dustin, stop touching me," he says, wriggling him off.

Dustin does, though he looks amused. "Good night?" he asks.

And for some reason, that just triggers the truth out of Mark. "I just went on a date," Mark tells him.

Hearing the words come out of his own mouth stun him; but Dustin's eyes going big and then him jumping up and down and whooping is a bigger competitor.

"You—You went on a date? I'm so proud of you, Mark!" he says, running back to him and petting Mark's cheeks. Mark shakes him off, but Dustin unfazed. "Was it the Wardo guy? Did you get laid? Oh!" a mischievous grin spreads across Dustin's face. " _That's_  why you look like that."

"What? No," Mark says quickly, turning to him. "He just. I don't know. We went on a date." He shrugs.

"Oh my god," says Dustin. For some reason his grin gets wider. "You  _would_  be happy just going on a date without getting any." But he pats Mark's cheek once more and jumps back in time before Mark can hit him, so Mark figures it's probably not that bad of an assessment.

He texts Erica about it while at work, so he won't get a weirdly enthusiastic real life response from her, too. She sends back a bunch of exclamation points, and then, in all capital letters:  _DETAILS_.

 _there's not much to say. The food was pirate themed_ , he sends back.

 _you are telling me EVERYTHING tomorrow_ , is Erica's reply, because of course tomorrow is Thursday.

He reiterates the events to her, trying to come off bored, though it's hard when he replays all of yesterday's events in his mind. He thinks back to the kiss and wishes that it had been a longer, that there had been more.

"I never thought I'd call any aspect of you cute," says Erica, when he's done, "but that is the cutest thing."

Mark scrunches his nose, at both of those statements.

"When's your next date?" she asks interestedly, stirring her coffee.

"When's our next—we just had our first one yesterday!"

"Yeah, and then he kissed you and you're both still into each other." Erica grins. "So when's your next one?"

***

Luckily the answer to this question comes the next day, when Mark is leaving as Dustin moves out to the desk, and Eduardo catches Mark on his way out. "Hey," he says to Mark easily, grabbing for his hand.

Mark isn't fast enough to hide it from Dustin, and doesn't really want to pull away. "Hey," he mumbles, blushing.

Dustin gapes at them like a fish, and then says, "Where is  _Chris_ , he needs to see this!"

"Who's Chris?" Eduardo asks, chuckling at Dustin.

"Dustin's pet cat," Mark responds immediately.

Eduardo laughs and pecks Mark on the mouth. Mark presses back eagerly, determined not to lose his chance this time; he seems to surprise Eduardo, because Eduardo makes a small noise against him and lets Mark suck on his lower lip for a moment, before they both let go.

"Um," Eduardo says. His cheeks are high with color. "I didn't actually come here for that, but—"

"You didn't give me a chance to on Wednesday," Mark says pointedly. He straightens his hoodie self-consciously.

"I," says Eduardo. "Yeah." He shakes his head quickly. "I was actually wondering—do you want to get breakfast tomorrow? Or dinner after your work?"

"Oh." Mark makes himself go through his schedule before he says yes to something he can't actually go to. "I'm probably going to stay up tonight to work on thefacebook so I won't have time in the morning, but—dinner?"

"Okay," says Eduardo. He squeezes Mark's hand again; Mark had forgotten he was still holding it.

They walk out, and Eduardo trails after him as Mark grabs his breakfast from the cafe. "You should eat before dinner tomorrow though," he says pointedly.

Mark shrugs. "I'll probably buy some red vines from the vending machine upstairs," he says.

Eduardo creases his eyebrows at him. "Mark."

"Erica's a bad influence on you," Mark says.

"We've only met each other twice."

"Let's leave it at that," Mark says, though not seriously, as he gets his bagel and cream cheese.

"I'll bring you something in the middle of your shift," Eduardo says.

Mark doesn't really expect him to, because it's a Saturday and Eduardo probably has better things to do with his time. But as promised, Eduardo appears an hour into Mark's shift, with a breakfast sandwich in one hand and orange juice in the other and shoves them at Mark without hearing any of Mark's protests.

The front desk only oversees the stairs and the rafter above the entrance, so there's no place for Eduardo to sit there for a few hours and wait for Mark to get off work, and when Mark does head counts he only smiles at him for too long (and grabs his ass once, which catches Mark completely by surprise.) Once he gets off work, Mark says to him, "I can't believe you stayed here the whole time."

Eduardo shrugs. "I got some studying done," he says.

Mark rolls his eyes. "What are we getting for dinner?" he asks.

Eduardo takes them to the sushi place they'd gone to a few times, and the waitstaff recognize them, though probably because Mark's only been here whenever he's with Eduardo. Midway through the meal, though, Eduardo asks for one checkbook, and as the waitress walks away, Eduardo says, "Consider this repayment for yesterday."

Mark shrugs. "That's pretty fair," he says.

It's just as easy as their other dinner dates, except Eduardo just smiles a lot more, which Mark hadn't felt like was possible. He's actually not sure how accurate that is, but that's how it feels, watching Eduardo watch him from across the table, grin cupped in hand.

Eduardo pays and then they head off into the cold February air. As they walk, Mark's phone buzzes with a new text message.

_Left your jacket here. Don't forget it on Monday._

"Who's that?" Eduardo asks interestedly, as Mark fumbles and decides not to answer it.

"My supervisor," Mark says. "Apparently I left my jacket at work."

Eduardo flails a little. "You just realized?" he says, looking Mark up and down. "No wonder—you must be freezing."

"Not really," says Mark, because he is wearing a long-sleeved shirt under his hoodie.

Eduardo fusses anyway, but Mark stoutly refuses to wear Eduardo's jacket. "I'm not a  _girl_ , Wardo," he says, before Erica's words from before intrude in his brain to mouth filter. "I mean, I'm not that cold, and you're wearing it," he revises.

"And you're not wearing anything heavy," Eduardo points out. "I—here."

He grabs Mark's hand, a totally inane gesture.

Mark stares at him. "What."

"I can make at least some part of you warm," Eduardo says, though his cheeks are more red than before, not just from the cold.

Mark eyes him for a moment. "You just want an excuse to hold my hand."

"And you're not pulling away," Eduardo shoots back.

Mark thinks about it, but Eduardo's hand is nice and warm and he doesn't really want to.

And then they arrive outside Kirkland, but Mark really doesn't want to leave Eduardo, and Eduardo hasn't said anything about doing anything afterward. They stop, and Eduardo opens his mouth to maybe say goodbye.

Mark yanks him forward and kisses him before he can, jamming their mouths awkwardly together at first. Eduardo squeaks—he fucking  _squeaks_ , Mark didn't know people did that—but one of his hands grabs for Mark's face, clutching him lightly, while the other winds and fists through the cloth of Mark's hoodie. It's not that urgent, really, but Eduardo tastes like chocolate and a little bit of kahlua and his mouth is moving against his hotly and Mark slips his tongue in and Eduardo makes another sound, and, yeah, Mark  _really_  doesn't want to leave Eduardo yet.

"Um," Eduardo says breathlessly, when they pull away. "Do you—want to spend the night at Eliot?" His eyes are bright when he says this, and the tug of want in Mark's belly just gets stronger.

He nods, mindlessly. "Yeah," he says.

Eduardo leads them to his dorm, keying them in and glancing once at Mark before letting him into the building. Mark tries to distract himself by looking at the architecture, or something; but then they're in Eduardo's room entirely too soon, and as soon as Mark steps in Eduardo joins him and shuts the door behind them.

Mark looks around. "You have a single," he observes.

Eduardo grabs his wrist and spins him around. "I do," he says, looking into Mark's eyes.

"That's, um." Mark's voice cracks. "That's convenient, because—"

Eduardo kisses him, and even though they'd both come from the same cold outside, he's somehow warmer, bigger than Mark. He kisses him until he has to tug away for air, and Mark's mind barely latches onto what he'd left off with.

"—I have a single too," he says, and his voice is hoarse.

"We can be pretty versatile, then," Eduardo mutters, kissing down his neck.

Mark can't really hold back a moan at that, and also his brain can't register any coherent words at that point, so he lets Eduardo kiss along his jawline, biting at sensitive places and soothing them over with kitten licks. He is getting progressively harder in his jeans, and it doesn't help when Eduardo cants his hips against him, for friction.

"Shit," Mark breathes, as Eduardo continues to kiss across his jawline, like he has some sort of obsession. His hands are also making quick work of Mark's jeans, and Mark fumbles with Eduardo's belt, even though he's in the way so Mark can't see anything and is trying to unbuckle it blindly.

Eduardo chuckles against him, vibrating against Mark's neck. "Here, let me," he murmurs, breathy and cheek warm. His proximity alone is making Mark harder and hotter; Mark watches through eyes in slits as Eduardo undoes his belt and strips his slacks and boxer briefs down in one fluid motion.

His cock is—Mark has seen other people's penises before, though usually on a computer screen and Mark is usually too occupied with his own to really be concerned with their colors and features and other digital components. Eduardo's cock is dark and half-hard and not very thick, but pretty long. Mark's mouth either waters or goes dry—he's not sure which.

Eduardo doesn't seem to notice his distraction. "Your turn," he says, getting close and tucking his fingers around the waistband of Mark's jeans.

Mark blinks and says, "Oh, oh yeah," and shucks his own jeans down, as Eduardo keeps his hands around him, kneads at Mark's backside when he's done.

Eduardo presses so close that their cocks slide up against each other. They both hiss at the contact, but Eduardo mutters, "This is ideal."

"Is it?" Mark says dryly. "Frotting against your front door is the stuff of your wet dreams?"

Eduardo laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth. His eyes are both dark and bright at the same time, cast on Mark like he's the eighth wonder of the world. "You'd be surprised," he says, before taking Mark's dick in his hand.

Mark's breath hitches. Eduardo strokes slowly, and his own cock is twitching against his thigh, getting harder and harder. Mark watches, reaching out to grab it absentmindedly.

Eduardo makes a keening noise as Mark runs his thumb over the tip. Mark feels like they're teenagers—well, he is a teenager, technically—but like younger, kids, learning how to masturbate, how to touch someone else for the first time. He slides Eduardo's stiffened cock along his own, and Eduardo goes, "Oh, yeah—yeah, that's—" and his breathing is so loud in Mark's ears.

It's kind of awkward how they get their hands together and cocks together, humping each other wetly against Eduardo's front door. Eduardo has a better angle for it since he's not actually against the door, grinding his hips into Mark's, adjusting so that their dicks are leaking all over each other, wondrously hot and sending all the blood rushing to Mark's ears. Mark watches him, because the color is high in Eduardo's cheeks, and they're both so close to the brink—Mark swipes his thumb over the underside of Eduardo's cock, and then he's coming, spurting onto Mark's cock and his own dress shirt.

After that, it's not long before Eduardo fucks Mark's dick with his hand, Mark hitting his orgasm with a whine and curling forward against Eduardo's shoulder. Eduardo, because he's a gentleman or something or other, strokes Mark entirely through it, until Mark is soft and small in his hands again.

Mark pants and bites against Eduardo's shoulder. "You can let go of me now," he says, though he's mostly concerned that if Eduardo kept holding him, he'll probably get hard again.

Eduardo laughs, letting go. He pulls away and looks into Mark's eyes, beaming.

"What?" Mark says.

"Nothing," says Eduardo, though he's probably lying; he leans forward and pecks Mark on the corner of the mouth, still grinning. "That was, um—"

"Decent," Mark says.

Eduardo's lips quirk.

"I should probably change out of this shirt," he muses, picking at the stain on it. He begins bending down and grabbing their discarded underwear and pants from before. "Do you want to borrow some clothes too?"

"Oh, yeah," Mark says absently. He may or may not be scoping out Eduardo's bare ass.

"Great."

Eduardo dumps both their dirty clothes in their laundry hamper, before taking his shirt off. He glances to Mark once, amused, and says, "If you want to borrow a shirt, you can take off your hoodie, too."

"Right," says Mark. Eduardo has like—abs, and biceps, and other faint outlines of muscle along his arms and his chest. Mark despairs of not taking off Eduardo's shirt earlier.

He strips out of his hoodie quickly, and Eduardo tosses him a sweater from one of his drawers. Mark looks at it, turning it over in his hands. "I didn't know you owned comfortable clothes."

"Ha ha," Eduardo says sarcastically, throwing a pair of sweatpants at Mark too. Mark is still looking at the Harvard sweatshirt, so the pants hit him right in the face. "Contrary to popular belief, I do wear things other than three piece suits all the time."

"I'm glad you finally address popular belief," Mark says dryly, beginning to put Eduardo's clothes on.

Eduardo is a few inches taller than him but really not that much bigger—he's more bony while Mark is just awkward—so the clothes fit fine, maybe a little longer at the sleeves and ankles. Mark looks them over, and his fingers twitch. That familiar spark of wanting to work on thefacebook takes over his brain.

"I feel like coding," he says thoughtfully.

Eduardo looks up at him from where he's wriggling his own clothes on—are those  _silk pajamas?_

"Oh," Eduardo says. "Okay."

Mark studies for a moment. Eduardo's face had definitely fallen, and while Mark has been on the given end of these sorts of things, he usually knows why.

It takes him another second before he says, "I mean, do you have a laptop around here I can borrow? I can just email myself the files for later."

"Oh! Of course." Eduardo digs through his backpack. "I thought you meant you were going back to your dorm," he says, turning around with a chunky laptop in his hand. "Here."

Mark takes it and rolls his eyes, heading toward Eduardo's bed. "I'm not going to ditch you just because we had sex," he says.

The last word rings in the room. As it does, Mark feels himself blush as he boots up the computer, trying to keep his eyes trained on the computer screen. He's not  _embarrassed_  at admitting it, because other people have sex all the time, but—hearing it in his own voice, and directed at Eduardo, who is smiling slowly at Mark—

"We did," he says, as if it needs reiteration.

"That's what I just said," Mark grumbles.

Eduardo lunges towards him on the bed then, on all fours and right up in Mark's face. "What the fuck are you doing?" Mark asks, straining to look at him.

"Hi," says Eduardo, before kissing the corner of his mouth.

He pulls away and straightens up right away, after. Mark watches as he pulls on a shirt and says, "I feel like you tricked me into liking you."

"No," Eduardo says airily, looking at him from above the collar of his t-shirt. "That's all you."

He joins Mark on his own bed moments later, with a textbook and a notebook, sitting crosslegged and opening them both up on his lap. The computer's already started on Mark's knees, but he glances at Eduardo studying once anyway. Their thighs are pressed together and Mark suddenly feels both at home and out of his depth here, in Eduardo's clothes, and dorm, coding as Eduardo reads articles about economics and infrastructures.

The silence they fall into is easy and unsurprising. Despite everything else, Mark falls into code as quickly as he always does, wiring in without much thought to his surroundings. Every once in a while he feels Eduardo bump into him or make some sort of noise while he's reading, but it's undemanding and Mark finds, in the back of his mind, that this isn't just easy—he  _likes_  this steady rhythm with Eduardo, quiet as it may be. He works on thefacebook, letting his shoulder fall against Eduardo's, sharing body heat in this already heated room.

He doesn't pay attention to the time, but at some point, Eduardo yawns. And then at another point, Eduardo goes, "Mark," and Mark has to remind himself that's his name.

He makes a weird noise in his throat, because he hasn't quite switched back to English yet.

"It's two in the morning," Eduardo says. "Were you planning on getting any sleep?"

"I never plan to get sleep," Mark says absently, typing. "It just happens."

Mark hears a chuckle, and then a prod at his side. "Email yourself," Eduardo says. "We should go to sleep."

Mark frowns, still looking at the computer. "You can go to sleep," he says.

"It's my dorm," Eduardo says pointedly. "And my laptop." He doesn't move to take his laptop out of Mark's hands, though; Mark can feel a gaze at the side of his head like Eduardo is looking at him with those big shiny eyes again.

Mark sighs. His limbs do feel stiff and could probably use some rest. "I guess I could sleep," he grumbles, because alternative option would be to go to Kirkland in the cold at two in the morning and be Eduardo-less for the night.

"You could." Eduardo sounds amused. He has no right to sound amused when he pretty much goaded Mark into this, and Mark tries to glare as he begins emailing himself.

Eduardo just smirks and urges Mark parallel to the bed.

As soon as Mark finishes sending the files to his email, he closes Eduardo's laptop and shuts it down to the side. He's ready to lie down and try to sleep like a normal person, when Eduardo gets on top of Mark, straddling his hips, hovering over him.

Mark scowls up at him. "This doesn't look like sleeping," he says.

"Doth the lady protest?" Eduardo asks, eyes glinting.

"A, you quoted that wrong with the most inappropriate context, I am disgusted," says Mark. Eduardo crows with laughter, still above him. "B, I am not a lady," Mark continues indignantly. "And C, no, I am not protesting, but—"

Eduardo cuts him off with a kiss on the mouth, swiping his tongue over Mark's bottom lip. "Good," he says, in the breath they share.

They kiss for a long time, under the dim glow of Eduardo's desk lamp, Eduardo's arms finally giving way so he's crouching with his elbows on either side of Mark's head as Mark arches his head up, to kiss back. It's late and he's tired enough for it to grow hazy in his head, not keeping track of time or the rest of their body parts, just kissing and kissing and kissing and breathing into each other, warm and wet. Mark has been bored by kissing before but kissing Eduardo is anything but; he is big and rough and Mark grips for Eduardo's bottom lip between his teeth, biting and sucking until Eduardo is groaning just from Mark's mouth on his own. Their hips jut into each other, languidly; Mark breaks off when he realizes he wants to put his mouth on other parts of Eduardo.

"Hey," he says, pushing Eduardo's shoulder back. Eduardo's eyes are dark again, watching Mark.

And he seems to get the idea, or some semblance of it, because he just goes, "Yeah," and pulls away. They switch places easily, Mark sitting back on his haunches as Eduardo lies on his back, watching him.

Mark still can't believe Eduardo's silk pajamas. He says as much, and Eduardo rolls his eyes.

"I usually don't wear them," he says, and gestures to Mark's sweatpants like those are the ones he usually wears as sleep clothes instead. "But I figured you'd probably hate wearing them."

Mark rolls his eyes, even though Eduardo's right. "These are literally," he says, snapping the waistband against Eduardo's stomach. " _Silk._ "

He cups his hand around Eduardo's crotch, feeling his obvious erection.

Eduardo inhales sharply. "Yeah," he says.

Mark gets Mark's pants off quickly and then his hand is on Eduardo's cock, stroking it wonderingly. Eduardo keeps gasping and writhing into him, maybe because Mark is taking his time with it all; when Mark gets Eduardo's cock into his mouth, he looks up at Eduardo through his eyelashes as he sucks. Eduardo groans out, " _Fuck_ ," and his grip is sharp and controlling in Mark's hair, surprisingly actually kind of nice.

Mark's cocksucking experience is pretty much slim to none so he isn't perfect, grazes his teeth against Eduardo and making him hiss, tonguing at the underside and trying to find a rhythm and having Eduardo buck into him at least twice. But Eduardo gets off pretty quickly, anyway, with a violent yank at Mark's hair. Mark pulls off just as Eduardo comes, getting some on his face and mostly on his shirt and thighs.

"You're gonna need to change again," Mark says, wiping his mouth.

"I can live." Eduardo catches his breath for a second, before making a grabbing motion for Mark. Mark wipes his face of Eduardo's spunk again, and then leans over him.

Eduardo kisses him, even licks at Mark's cheek where his come still is, cleaning his face. Mark crinkles his nose against him. "That's gross," he says.

"It's efficient," Eduardo says.

"You're gross," Mark says, again, and Eduardo laughs.

He gets Mark off in his sweatpants, not even taking them off. Mark comes with a shudder and a sigh, arching into Eduardo's body as the damp runs across his thighs.

"Maybe we should change again," Eduardo says, as Mark comes down from his orgasm, finally getting off Eduardo and collapsing to the side.

Mark blinks over at him blearily. "Bleh," he says, because his thighs feel weak and the rest of him is pretty much boneless.

"I agree." Eduardo smiles. "I'm gonna turn off the light?"

Mark shrugs. Eduardo gets up and off the bed and flicks his desk lamp off, smothering the room into darkness. Mark doesn't see as much as he feels Eduardo joining him in the twin bed again, even though it's a tight fit for the both of them. Eduardo lies on his side and nuzzles into Mark's shoulder. He smells a little like cologne and a lot like something else, Mark doesn't know. Something homey.

"Good night," Eduardo murmurs, and Mark doesn't know if he's talking about their night, or bidding Mark to sleep.

"Yeah," Mark agrees, before nodding off.

***

Mark wakes up to hazy sunlight and questionably comfortable warmth the next morning. The light comes from some place above him, shot into the room and across the bed. Mark is at first thrown off because he is very obviously not in his bed.

Then yesterday's events filter through his brain, stirring a pleased simmer throughout his body. Eduardo is still asleep against his shoulder, and though Mark doesn't often wake up because of changes of lighting in the room—he's fallen asleep during broad daylight too many times to count—he also doesn't usually sleep as early as two in the morning.

Eduardo snuffles against him. He sleeps on his side, curled forward like a comma; Mark usually sleeps flat on his back, which was a habit he'd established in high school once he started staying up to late hours to really care for adjusting into a comfortable position and would fall asleep as soon as his back hit the mattress. Mark watches Eduardo breathe against him, feeling kind of weird and out of place because he doesn't usually do this,  _cuddle_  with people, watch them sleep. It's nice.

Eduardo wakes up entirely too soon for Mark's liking, though it's probably because of the window light, too. He looks up to see Mark watching him, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice thick.

Mark nods. His throat is dry and his voice will probably crack if he speaks.

He tries, anyway. "Morning," he rasps.

Eduardo laughs and perches himself forward, and then he's kissing Mark like they hadn't done enough of that yesterday. Mark isn't complaining, despite the taste of morning breath; he makes a face into Eduardo's, but Eduardo laughs against him and says, "We taste bad."

"Yeah," Mark agrees, pressing up for more.

They kiss for a bit until Eduardo has the sense to pull away and check the time. It's six in the morning and Mark's work shift starts in an hour. He groans and knocks his head back on the pillow as Eduardo begins climbing off of him.

"C'mon, Mark," says Eduardo, nudging his calf. "Make bank, remember?"

"I regret existence," Mark says to the ceiling.

Eduardo laughs and tugs at his ankle. "I don't," he says, looking entirely too amused. Because of course he's the sort to wake up easily. "C'mon, up and at 'em."

Mark gets up and uses Eduardo's bathroom, and then pulls on his clothes from Eduardo's laundry hamper despite Eduardo's protests. He's too embarrassed to say that wearing Eduardo's clothes out in public would make him feel—exposed, or something, so he says, "I don't want to trip and fall in the snow and get your clothes dirty." Eduardo insists that he wouldn't care, but Mark ignores him and pulls his clothes on, worn and used from yesterday.

Once he's done, he hovers by the door as Eduardo gets himself washed up. He'd offered Mark his toothbrush, but it's definitely too early for any of that and kind of disgusting, anyway. Eduardo comes back out, his face and the front of his hair slightly damp. He smiles when he sees Mark by the door.

"So," he says, going over to him. "I guess we'll see each other later."

Mark rolls his eyes. "Unless the next step is to avoid each other for the rest of our lives, I don't see why not," he says.

Eduardo laughs and then he kisses Mark, open-mouthed but innocent. "See you," he says, as Mark opens the door.

Mark heads down and back to Kirkland, vision feeling kind of disjointed but not in a bad way, his middle still a little warm from this morning and yesterday and—everything. His cellphone is dead in the pocket of his hoodie but it won't take too long for him to get ready and head into work, although he supposes he should probably check if he had any homework due today, too.

He's parading under the arch that's the entrance to the house when he sees a familiar red head outside of his dorm building, and stops. Dustin is standing there, and positively crows when Mark comes up.

"Walk of shame!" he hollers, and Mark's neighbors will probably yell at him later.

"Shut up," he grumbles, fumbling with his key. "What are you doing here? How did you find my dorm?"

"I didn't know you lived in Kirkland, too," Dustin says delightfully. "I was at work, Carlton asked if I lived in Kirkland and told me to bring this to you." He offers out his arms, which is full of Mark's jacket.

Mark grunts and snatches it from him. "Thanks," he says, not meaning it.

"So?" Dustin says, as Mark wrestles the door open. "Was I right or was I right? Did you just get laid with  _Wardo_  last night?"

"Why are you following me?"

Dustin pokes his shoulder, in the building with Mark. "C'mon, Mark, give me details! Or not details," he hastens to add, "but am I allowed to feel happy for your little cherub face?"

"I don't have a cherub face," Mark says, on instinct. He pauses. "And yes, this spot on my hoodie is a cum stain." He points to said spot on said hoodie.

Dustin jumps back, wide-eyed. "You're joking," he says to Mark at first. When Mark smirks, he says, "Oh my god, you're not joking."

Mark shrugs.

"I said don't give me  _details_!" Dustin says, though he sounds more happy about it than offended. He reaches over to maybe hug Mark, thinks better of it, and then pulls away.

"I'll get going now," he says to Mark, heading toward the door. "But now that I know where you live, expect many invites for Halo and pizza nights!"

Mark seriously considers moving out, as Dustin leaves.

He barely gets to work on time, but he does, with Carlton standing by the desk entrance, his arms crossed and watching Mark come in. "Don't forget your jacket this time," he says as Mark rushes over to his computer.

Mark nods, but he's still thinking about Eduardo.

***

Despite having had probably one of the better nights of his life, the world does not change, nothing goes rose-tinted. Maybe the sun shines a little brighter today, across the banister in long lines from the tall windows around the staircases. But it's February so there aren't any singing birds, and Mark's mind flits between work, thefacebook, and last night, staring dopily at his screen for a second while remembering that he's supposed to be focusing on a stupid numbers game Dustin had introduced to him a couple days earlier.

His cellphone, still dead, is charging in his dorm room at Kirkland. Mark gets off work at eleven and almost forgets about Erica, because it's Thursday and she's waiting in the cafe. He traces back his steps, doing his best not to look too harried.

Erica looks surprised when he materializes in front of her. "Hi," she says. "You weren't answering any of my texts."

"Phone's dead," Mark replies, sitting across from her.

He fidgets, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to tell her about last night. Girls are interested in stuff like that, right? Well, maybe with other girls; Mark isn't sure if they'd be too interested in that  _he_  just got laid.

He clears his throat. Erica looks up at him with her eyebrows raised, though she's still reading through her own papers.

"So," Mark says. "Wardo and I had another date last night."

"Oh?" Erica's expression shifts to one with more interest. "How did it go?"

Mark's neck feels hot. "We, uh." He clears his throat. Maybe he shouldn't tell her; Erica  _cares_  about  _things_  and it will make all of this horrible.

But she's still watching him expectantly, and Mark can't really fabricate a convincing lie when Eduardo is still at the forefront of his mind. "We had a good night," he finishes lamely.

"Oh." Suddenly Erica is grinning at him, and how do girls figure out this stuff so quickly? "How good of a night?" she asks, her mouth quirking.

Mark thins his lips. "Don't ask me that," he says.

Erica's grin is growing, both annoying and kind of assuring at the same time. "Do you not kiss and tell?" she teases.

She puts her paper down, and Mark would consider it a success if it didn't mean that the conversation was shifting to his sex life, entirely. "So," she says, propping one elbow on the table. "Who did the walk of shame? Was it you or him?"

"You know, I don't understand that phrase," says Mark. "What if I ran? What if I wasn't ashamed?"

Erica pokes his elbow, because apparently everyone is poking Mark today. "Tell me," she says.

"Guess," says Mark, because he's said too much.

Erica observes him for a second, before grabbing her handout again. "You stayed the night," she says.

Mark stares. He doesn't want to give anything away to indicate that she's right, but—

"How did you know?"

Erica eyes him up and down. "Your hair's rumpled, you're wearing the same jeans from yesterday, and you said your phone is dead," she says.

Mark stares some more.

Erica cracks up, leaning forward and putting her paper down again. "I was kidding," she says. "It's a fifty-fifty chance. I was right, though," she adds smugly.

They fret with their respective work, and once Erica's done whatever she's doing, she reads over Mark's CSS and HTML and complains about tables, again. (Mark complains about tables, too, but it's 2003.) Then Erica says, "Oh yeah, about the COO thing—I can do head design, but I don't think I want to be COO."

Mark has to replay her words in his head to digest them. "What?" he says, first. Then, "Why?"

Erica shrugs. "I don't think I'm cut out for it, business and stuff," she says. "Or anything else, I mean—thefacebook's  _your_  thing. Not mine."

"But." Mark stares at her, not knowing what to say. It's not like he's been feeling lost, or whatever, but—working on thefacebook alone and being weighted with his own name sounds nice, but it'll also feel. Not real, without someone else around.

"I can do the design stuff," Erica pushes on, like Mark isn't trying to relocate himself in both his head and the conversation. He had just  _assumed_ she would— "But it really is more your thing than it is ours," Erica reasons. She pats Mark's hand.

"I," says Mark. He can't think of anything else to say. "Okay."

Erica studies his face for a second. "Okay?"

"Yeah," says Mark. He gathers his wits; it's fine, it's not like anything will change because Erica's said no. "I'll just keep—coding, and we'll do the banner stuff, and I'll put you on the masthead." He nods.

Erica smiles. "Sounds good," she says. "But hey—you should ask Eduardo, maybe? He's an economics major, he can probably help out."

Mark snorts, though he will admit the idea has merit. But then there's the factor of them not working out, and now that they've started his—sex thing, and the parts that don't really have anything to do with sex but Eduardo smiling at him over pirate-themed food and making his insides twist together—it's a risk he won't take, either for Eduardo or for thefacebook.

"Just because I slept with him doesn't mean he's now a part of thefacebook," he says.

For some reason, that makes Erica laugh.

***

With it being February and the chill relentless, despite that time move forward, it seems to get colder by the day. Eduardo is a renewed presence in his life, dropping by to pick up Mark from work, or to bunk over when it's apparently too cold in his dorm ("I was there, Wardo, your heater is like a fucking furnace.") Mark is pretty sure that the first time Eduardo says it he's just looking for an excuse to come to Mark's dorm, but it's not like Mark can protest, especially when Eduardo studies on his bed and Mark codes at his desk, and then Eduardo says that he should go and Mark tells him not to and a weird thing happens with Eduardo's face when he says it's okay.

Then, it's a Thursday and Mark is spinning at his desk chair, bored. It's a habit that he's picked up from Dustin, because he picks up all his bad habits from Dustin. Who, speaking of, apparently looks at the date and makes a whoop of enjoyment.

"Marky Mark! Don't you realize what day it is?" he says.

Mark blinks. "The twelfth?" he says. He's aware of whenever Friday the thirteenths are approaching, because his older sister is superstitious. Mark had once pranked her when he was a sophomore in high school. She hasn't trusted him around her laptop since.

"Oh wait, shit, tomorrow's gonna be the—never mind." Apparently Dustin isn't superstitious, because he barrels on. "That means Saturday's is Valentine's Day."

"Oh." Mark blinks.

"You and Wardo got any fancy romantic plans for the weekend?" Dustin waggles his eyebrows, which is a disturbing image.

"Don't do that," Mark says. "And."

He thinks back to when Eduardo had invited him out to that AEPi party, like maybe he'd hoped Mark would say yes. Eduardo's kind of the type of person to attend events when he RSVPs to them, and hasn't missed any club meetings since he and Mark started this  _thing_  about a week ago, even though once Mark had almost made him late to one by getting on his knees and making Eduardo need to change his trousers.

"Probably not," he says, weirdly disappointed at the prospect.

Dustin clucks his tongue. "You are a terrible romantic," he says, automatically assuming it's Mark's fault.

Mark rolls his eyes. As usual, he meets up with Erica afterward; but she brings up the Valentine's Day thing, too.

"Do you have any plans with Eduardo for Saturday?" she asks casually.

"I don't know," Mark bites. "Do I?"

Erica reels back, raising her eyebrows. "Okay, geez, I was just wondering," she says, though she looks amused. "Why? Did someone already ask Eduardo before you could?"

"The entire Jewish fraternity," Mark mutters to himself.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Nothing," says Mark, and returns to staring at his psych homework, feeling strangely burdened.

It doesn't let up for the entire day, and then after Mark's afternoon class he gets a text from Eduardo saying that he can meet up with him outside of Dworkin. Mark arrives outside, shoving his hands into his hoodie. Eduardo is listening to his iPod, but he immediately reels the cords back as soon as Mark appears.

"Hey," he says, smiling.

"Hi," Mark says. Eduardo looks happy to see him, and Mark is reminded of Dustin and Erica's words from earlier. But Eduardo's had a social life longer than he's had Mark, so Mark tells himself that it's not a big deal.

They walk back together, talking nonsense and Mark mostly bitching about his class. At the end of Dunster when they're in front of Eliot and Kirkland, Eduardo tugs at Mark's wrist and says, "Come over."

Mark stares at him, then shrugs. "Yeah, okay," he agrees.

Both their hands are freezing out in the bare air so they pull back quickly; Eduardo tuts and says, "You should be wearing more."

"You should be wearing gloves," Mark points out.

Eduardo rolls his eyes. "Please don't tell me you don't own any sneakers," he says, looking pointedly down at Mark's shoes.

Mark sniffs. "You know I do," he says, because Eduardo has seen the shoes outside of his door. "Flip-flops are just easier to wear."

"How do you do this thing where you manage to make me hate the weather for your sake?" Eduardo sends him an incredulous look as he lets them into Eliot.

Mark rolls his eyes and follows him inside. The Eliot common room has the persuasive smell of pizza, so both he and Eduardo dip in to steal a slice from whoever's running a video game tournament and ordered it before heading into Eduardo's dorm.

Mark doesn't quite understand the Eliot heating, though apparently every once in a while the central heating just kind of hiccups and sends the room into freezing outside air temperatures for an hour or two, before restarting. It's perfectly fine when they walk in, though, and Mark shrugs his fleece off and drops it at the foot of Eduardo's bed, before tugging his backpack up and getting his laptop out.

The way they've fallen into this routine is scarily natural. Eduardo shoots him a grin before getting whatever he needs from his desk, before joining Mark on his bed. Contrary to when they're at Kirkland and Mark occupies his desk while Eduardo takes over his bed, when they're at Eduardo's, they both sit on Eduardo's bed.

Mark is content, tapping through his laptop and half-wishing he was at his dorm so he could use his desktop too, but not really at the expense of losing Eduardo's warmth next to him. Eduardo reads through his textbook, taking notes on the side.

Mark gets distracted and watches him for a minute. "Is that AEPi Valentine's Day party this Saturday?" he asks casually.

Eduardo snorts, not looking up from his book. "I think so," he says.

"Oh." Mark bites his lip, trying to think of something—he doesn't know. Thoughtful to say. "Have fun, then," he decides.

Eduardo glances up, eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"I mean," says Mark. "You're going, aren't you?" He wants to bring up that Eduardo had invited him after all, but since Mark had said no, it might feel like a weird rejection that he wishes he'd said otherwise to. Though, it doesn't sound like there would be a lot of redeeming aspects of a Valentine's Day party held by a Jewish frat.

Eduardo shrugs. "I mean, yeah, I could, if you wanted to go," he says, throwing Mark off completely. "Or we could do something else? Unless you had plans that day." He says it all slowly, like Mark is the one in control of the situation.

"Um," says Mark. "Not really, but I—wasn't really planning on going."

"We can do something else?" Eduardo offers, like they're discussing classwork, not—this.

Mark nods soundlessly. Eduardo smiles at him, before returning to his textbook.

So that's that, until later that night after Mark has walked back to his dorm (as much as he likes sleeping over with Eduardo, he'd rather sleep in his own clothes) and doing a little more work on thefacebook, he gets a text from Eduardo.

_Date on Sat, y/n? I can pick the place._

Mark's chest does a funny flipping thing. He sends back  _Y_  and tries not to think about it too much as he sinks back into thefacebook, and the next day.

So on Saturday—allegedly Valentine's Day—Eduardo finds him at work, gives him a small wave as he passes the front desk, and spends Mark's entire shift in the reading room and smirking every time Mark's gaze drifts from when he's doing headcounts and over to him. Afterward, he walks them to some nice club that Mark has never been to before, with hazy yellow lighting and a bunch of kids in beanies and button-ups, pretending to be sophisticated adults.

"Nice place," Mark comments, though not sarcastically. They get seated soon enough. "Have you been here before?"

"Once." Eduardo smiles at the waitress as she sets their menus down. "I got take here on a date in freshman year."

Mark snorts. "How did that go?"

"Terribly, but the food was delicious," says Eduardo.

He orders them some red wine, even though Mark isn't really a wine person. The port isn't bad, though, and Eduardo keeps scuffing at his shoe under the table when they begin people watching and Mark has a hard time keeping his voice down from his judgment.

Mark isn't really the type of person who's felt left out in the past, mostly because he usually doesn't pay attention to that sort of thing, and what he's doing is usually objectively better, so it's not a thing he worries about. But sitting here, on a  _date_  with Eduardo, on fucking Valentine's Day... It's surreal, how he feels like he does fit in with everyone else in this club, laughing with a person they really like and playing bad games of footsie under the table. Eduardo is wearing pointy shoes and Mark goes, "Ow," when they dig into his ankle. Eduardo snickers and apologizes.

The food is really good, as promised. They get kind of drunk on the wine, because port is really sweet, and Mark finishes it faster than he probably should, by the way that Eduardo just widens his eyes after his second glass and an undignified burp.

"We should play a game," Mark says thoughtfully. "Take a shot every time we hear  _I love you_  somewhere in here."

"Nope," Eduardo says right away. "I don't have the kidney for that, and as much as you think you might, I don't think you do, either."

"You're boring," says Mark, but he also takes one of Eduardo's fries and jams it clumsily in his mouth.

He lets off with the two glasses of port, and eats slowly, watching Eduardo work on his food, too. His foot finds Eduardo's under the table; Mark is wearing his flip-flops as always, so it's easy to slip his foot out and find the hem of Eduardo's trousers, touch the skin of his ankle.

Eduardo, from where he's eating his sandwich, jolts in his seat a little. Mark smirks.

Eduardo doesn't say anything, but Mark traces circles on Eduardo's skin with his big toe, finding purchase right under the cloth above his ankle and tucking his foot in there. Eduardo is warm, but Mark imagines that his sock is even warmer on Eduardo's skin. He rubs up and down slowly, watching the color rise to Eduardo's cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Eduardo grits out.

Mark steels his face into a perfect picture of innocence. "Nothing," he says, though his words definitely come out more smug than anything.

Eduardo finishes his sandwich, before washing it down with a sip of his wine. "I'm going to the bathroom," he announces the world, banging up, letting Mark's foot fall to the ground.

Mark watches as Eduardo heads off, before glancing back at Mark once. Mark smirks and gets up, too.

So that's how less than five minutes later, he finds himself on his knees and kissing up Eduardo's thigh, while Eduardo trembles above him, fingers drunkenly carding through Mark's hair. "Mark," he mutters, tickling at a sensitive spot near Mark's ear.

Mark, despite himself, giggles. He's only giggled a few times in his life. Eduardo does it again, and Mark, nosing against Eduardo's cock, giggles once more.

"Wardo," he despairs, and looks up. Eduardo is watching him fondly, and it's not really tickling as much as it makes Mark feel sensitive and squirm.

Later Eduardo sucks him off, too, for the first time, and Mark comes down his throat, laughing a little when Eduardo's fingers skate to the edge of his waist.

"I didn't know you were ticklish," Eduardo muses later, after they've cleaned up and are returning to their booth. Their waitress is eyeing them like she knows what they'd just done, though technically she has no proof, since it wasn't like she was in the men's room with them.

Mark sniffs, sliding back into his seat. "I'm not," he says.

Eduardo grins and attempts to hide it when he takes a sip out of his wine glass.

***

So that's Valentine's Day, though Eduardo does spend the night and Mark wakes up the next morning with Eduardo curled up around him. Eduardo's already awake, though, smelling vaguely of cologne but mostly of Mark's bed. Mark decides that it's a good scent on him.

And so they're dating, or something, and it feels serious and not serious all at the same time. On top of Eduardo catching him at work they catch each other elsewhere, they go to each other's dorms when they can, or Mark will be in the middle of a coding bend and he'll hear a knock at his door and not really remember calling out, "Coming!" and then fifteen minutes pass and his phone buzzes with,  _it's been fifteen minutes_ , pushing Mark up to actually let Eduardo in.

They manage to arrange his and Erica's schedules again so that they can meet up again, this time on the next Friday evening because Eduardo's something is canceled and so is Erica's whatever. Mark is taking an extra shift in the afternoon, so while he's doing a headcount, he finds them both bent over a table at the reading room talking about something or other.

"You better not be talking about me," he says, as he ticks off  _5, Reading room, studying._

Eduardo looks up at him and smiles. Erica rolls her eyes.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, you know," she says.

"That's nice," Mark says.

Eduardo says, "Erica wants to take us some place near BU for dinner, if that's okay with you, Mark?"

Mark shrugs. He should move on, but he doesn't want to. That girl, Christy, is working with him today and she keeps making eyes at Eduardo whenever he comes in and out, even though she knows about Mark's situation.

"Sure," Mark says.

"I told you he wouldn't care," Erica says to Eduardo, who smiles all the same.

And then there's a Bill Gates lecture at the end of the month, which Mark invites them both to because he'd accidentally mentioned it to Erica at first, and then Eduardo in kind. Erica can't go because she has a midterm and Eduardo says yes at first; then he realizes he has a group meeting for a class so he texts Mark that he can't come. Along with a frowny face. Mark isn't sure if it's any better or worse than a smiling one.

He goes to the Bill Gates lecture anyway, where Bill Gates gives some speech about how they should stay in school. Mark comes out of it feeling strangely lonely, though it's mostly because everyone else here seems to have come with someone, and the past few weeks of having Eduardo by his side now makes him feel cold and weird.

He walks back, wondering if Eduardo is done with his group project thing. Before he can even think about rotating around to head to the library, though, his phone buzzes.

_Lecture done? On my way back from Widener_

Mark taps out a quick reply and redirects, cutting across the quad and a back alley shortcut. The cold drives Mark to jog a little.

He spots Eduardo soon enough, walking leisurely down the sidewalk. Mark jogs a bit faster until he reaches Eduardo, nudging up against his side.

"Wardo," he says.

Eduardo jerks around, but he grins when he spots Mark. "Hey," he says. "How was Bill Gates?"

"Fine," Mark says. Then, "Old."

Eduardo laughs. "Cool," he says. "Wanna head to Kirkland?"

Mark shrugs. "Okay."

Eduardo puts his hand on the small of Mark's back, hesitantly at first. He's warm so Mark doesn't try shaking him off, and Eduardo adjusts himself more comfortably. As they walk and talk aimlessly, Mark scoots a little closer so that his elbow bumps into Eduardo's side. Eduardo's mouth twitches and he wraps his hand more firmly around Mark's waist.

They get back to Mark's dorm, though Mark feels buzzed from the cold and Bill Gates and mostly Eduardo being here when neither of them had planned it. He goes to his desk, routine at first, but then he spins around as Eduardo climbs onto his bed.

"Do you want to have sex?" he asks.

Eduardo drops the book he's pulling out. His eyes are wide and he nods at Mark, once.

"Yeah," he says.

It's like living in fast-forward, the moment where Mark's sitting at his desk and then he's hovering over Eduardo, straddling his waist and just staring down at him. Eduardo watches him; his eyes are all dark but he doesn't try to lean up for a kiss, keeps his gaze steady on Mark.

"What," says Eduardo, smirking. "Is this your idea of sex?"

"I can't figure you out," Mark spills out. His eyes trace over Eduardo's perfect skin, hair, his fucking eyebrows—Mark has never thought of anyone having perfect eyebrows before, what the hell. And here he is, just. Under Mark.

"What's there to figure out?" Eduardo's still smiling, though his eyes get bigger and deeper like he's trying to look into Mark.

"I don't know," Mark says honestly. He kisses Eduardo so he won't ask anymore questions and Mark won't have to think of anymore answers—the scariest thing about all of this is that it  _doesn't_  feel tentative, hanging on a thread somewhere. Eduardo is solid underneath him and kisses back eagerly, and then not very long after they have switched positions and Eduardo is marking hickies on Mark's neck while two of his fingers are grinding deep into Mark.

Truthfully, Mark didn't think that he and Eduardo would be so sexually compatible—and it's not that it's never not awkward, because it definitely burns when Eduardo first slips his fingers in and Mark has to physically force tears from springing to his eyes. But Mark's had health classes before, pretended not to pay attention during sex ed because everyone else didn't, but his teacher had mentioned stuff about sexual compatibility and how just because you love—or like someone, doesn't mean they're going to be a perfect match for you in bed. But Mark can't really imagine otherwise, because Eduardo watches him open-mouthed and shiny-eyed and actually asks Mark, "Is this okay?" and Mark grinds down and tells him to move and to  _keep going, Wardo, I'm not a bowling ball._  Eduardo laughs and it's like, good. It's  _really_  good.

In the morning Mark's got his Saturday shift, and apparently his coworker is sick, because Dustin is there instead, waving at the both of them cheerily. Eduardo's walking him to work, because he'd insisted.

"Dustin is embarrassing," Mark mutters, as they march up the staircase.

Eduardo laughs into his collar.

Then, when Mark heads for the counter, Eduardo pulls him back by the hand until Mark's standing inches away from him, realizing how much taller Eduardo is than him. "Bye honey," he teases.

Mark rolls his eyes and starts away. "Let me go, Wardo," he grumbles.

Dustin is visibly laughing behind the counter. Eduardo does let him go, but as Mark goes for the door again, he catches up and drops a kiss at the corner of Mark's mouth.

Mark leans up for more, even though they're in public, in front of Dustin. But Eduardo pulls away and winks, before heading through the double doors.

***

And then it's March, even though the weather doesn't let up and Eduardo continues clucking every time they go out and Mark continues to wear his flip-flops. Mark points out that he's wearing socks so it's not like he actually wants his toes to fall off. Eduardo rolls his eyes and heads off because he has an early morning class on Monday, while Mark can return to his dorm and code for thefacebook until he knocks out.

The annoying thing with thefacebook is that it's more than halfway into the new term already and Mark still doesn't feel like it's anywhere close to be put up live. He's not even that much of a perfectionist, in all honesty, but there's so much to do with the backend stuff, even if he does get most of the frontend done because he and Erica have been long done with the banner and arrangement of everything else. And he  _likes_  spending time with Eduardo, because Eduardo's—well, he's him, and then there's also the sex. But Mark won't let even that distract him from his working.

Well, in a way.

Because it's a few days later when he's back from class and work and Erica and drops himself at his computer and loses himself in code for a long time. He's started a habit of leaving the door open since Eduardo's been over so much that he might as well swing by whenever he wants.

So he's working and Eduardo says, "Hey," at first and Mark doesn't look back when he mutters Eduardo's name under his breath. Eduardo looks at him all imploringly for maybe about a minute, but then he disappears behind him, presumably to sit at Mark's bed.

Then Mark is being tugged away from his desk and wheeled back toward his bed. Yelping, he tries to grapple for his laptop, but misses his desk by an inch. Eduardo's too fast.

"Wardo," Mark says petulantly, as Eduardo reels him in and grabs for Mark's hands.

"Mark," says Eduardo, with the same intonation. "You didn't look at me earlier."

Mark shrugs, ignoring the small nab of guilt. "I was working," he says.

Eduardo sighs. He grasps both of Mark's hands in his own, which is sappy but his hands are warm so Mark doesn't protest. "You're always working," says Eduardo, pulling him in closer.

Mark rolls his eyes because that's not really a thing you complain about someone. Eduardo kisses him anyway, leaning forward on Mark's bed while Mark lets him, opening his mouth against Eduardo's.

It gets hot, and heavy, and—Mark's brain catches up with the string he'd left off on. "Wardo," he says, into his mouth. "I was coding."

"Now you're not," Eduardo breathes into him.

Mark frowns when Eduardo kisses his lips again. "I want to code," he says.

Eduardo says, "I want to blow you."

Mark's mind halts, for a second. He does remember the last time Eduardo had his dick in his mouth, and he'd been really good at it, and—Mark glares, because Eduardo is watching him innocently like he doesn't know what he's doing to Mark's brain. Which he totally does.

But then Eduardo says, "Here. We can do both."

"What?" Mark says, but Eduardo is pushing him back to his desk, coming along with him. He folds himself under Mark's desk, which should look like a tight fit, but he looks more snug, instead.

"C'mon," Eduardo says, smirking up at him. "Go back to coding."

Mark rolls his eyes, because there is  _no way_  Eduardo's gonna manage to suck him off like that.

Five minutes later he finds that he's miscalculated terribly, but that's mostly because Eduardo is up on his knees and Mark's jeans are shoved clumsily down to his ankles and Eduardo is mouthing at Mark's cock so earnestly. Mark gasps and tries to keep his mind on track with his code.

"Go on, Mark," Eduardo says while Mark's dick is  _in his mouth_ , Mark can feel the vibrations. He glares down at him, at Eduardo pink-cheeked and his lips red and swollen and Mark's cock between them.

Mark is only pushed back a little from his desk so that he can still type proper, but it's hard to read the characters on his screen when Eduardo does that— _thing_ , with his tongue, and Mark's brain just short-circuits. Eduardo looks surprisingly small between his legs, and Mark is trying so hard to not think with his dick right now and failing.

"Go on with what?" Mark says, managing to keep his voice controlled. "Coding, or coming?"

Eduardo hums in response.

Mark gets a substantial amount of work in, in those fifteen minutes, considering his situation. He types weakly at his keyboard while Eduardo sucks him off in noisy, practiced motions; he comes, finally, craning his body upward and vision whitening out and all code leaving his brain.

Later, he gets a lot more in, while Eduardo studies on his bed, looking satisfied with himself. When he leaves later for his business investor's meeting he kisses Mark on the mouth, still tasting like Mark's come. Mark scrunches his face against him.

"Keep going," Eduardo says, grinning and gesturing to thefacebook. He waves as he marches out.

Mark grumbles, but he does until (as usual) he passes out.

Over the weekend, he tries to fit in as much work as possible. Unfortunately, he's only about a couple of hours into his Sunday tear when there's a loud knocking at his door, and it doesn't go away when Mark tries to ignore it. If it were Eduardo, he would've just come in.

Mark steers himself back into English before wrenching the door open. "What?" he says snappily, and comes face-to-face with Dustin.

"Hi!" Dustin says perkily. "Whatcha doing?"

Mark grumbles. It's not like Dustin would expect him to be doing anything else other than working on thefacebook. Dustin peers in curiously.

"I know you don't have work today," he says to Mark. "Do you wanna hang out? I brought my xbox." He lifts up the console under his arms.

"I don't have a tv," says Mark, angling the door so Dustin can't see the tv that his parents had insisted him bring in case he wanted to watch the news or something boring.

"Don't lie, I know you do," says Dustin, grinning. He bounces up on his tiptoes so he can see over Mark's shoulder. "And c'mon, you got a single, don't tell me you never get lonely."

Mark narrows his eyes at him. "Are you inviting yourself in?"

"More or less," says Dustin, and then he brushes past him and into Mark's room.

And that's how twenty minutes later Dustin has his xbox set up on Mark's desk, next to the tv he'd propped up, and Mark is trying to look not as interested as he is as Dustin plays Halo while Mark codes with his laptop on his thighs. Mark's seen—and played—Halo at a couple of friends' houses back in high school and middle school, though he was never interested enough to get his parents to buy an xbox, and his sisters didn't care either. Dustin's actually not that bad, and Mark finds himself making snide commentary and pointing out the enemies that Dustin almost misses.

"You are so into this," Dustin says gleefully, sitting back on his heels after his character dies. "Wanna play?"

He hands the controller over to Mark. Mark eyes it dubiously.

"Until I die," he decides, taking it.

Another round of switching off and on with the controller later, and the door to Mark's dorm opens. Eduardo appears, looking surprised but pleased at Dustin's presence.

"Hey Dustin," he says, before settling next to Mark.

Dustin shouts, "Hit that guy!" before, "Yo, Wardo!"

"Are you playing Halo?" Eduardo asks interestedly, sitting at Mark's side.

Mark makes a quick noise of assent before he notices an enemy hiding behind a bush, too late. He tries to swerve out of the way but misses; both he and Dustin swear violently as Mark's character dies.

Eduardo snickers beside the both of them. "I didn't know you played video games, Mark," he says, nudging Mark's hip with his own.

"He doesn't, it's my Xbox," says Dustin, prying the controller out of Mark's hands. "And my game," he adds thoughtfully.

"Dustin intruded into my home," Mark tells Eduardo.

Eduardo laughs and presses a kiss to Mark's mouth. "I did, too," he says.

Mark scoffs against his lips. "Hardly."

So then that's easy; Mark doesn't think he and Eduardo are particularly gross, and Eduardo maintains a more respectable distance away from Mark than he would otherwise, which irritates Mark only a little but not too much. It's the afternoon, but Dustin grunts about being hungry and Eduardo says to Mark, "You haven't eaten lunch yet have you?" and at Mark's non-answer, they order pizza.

And so Eduardo calls the place while Dustin plays Halo and Mark sits on his bed with his dying computer. He's never had two people in his dorm at once before, who weren't his family or his RA. And he likes Dustin and Eduardo well and all, but—

Mark glances at his phone, charging off the edge of his bed. He thinks once, thinks better of it, and then dives for his phone before he changes his mind.

About forty minutes later, there's a knock at the door. Eduardo springs up from where he's not cuddled at Mark's side—"That must be the pizza!"

He opens up the door to reveal Erica.

"Hi Eduardo." Erica sounds as shocked as Mark imagines the look on Eduardo's face to be, then astutely banishes the image from his mind and stares hard at thefacebook file he's working on at about five words per minute.

"Erica!" Eduardo greets her in, holding the door open like a gentleman as she enters. "What are you—"

"Mark invited me," Erica says, first to him before going over to Mark on the bed. She pokes Mark's socked foot.

"Yeah, hi," Mark says, not looking up.

Erica snorts. "Move over," she says.

Mark tries to protest, but she squeezes herself between him and Dustin anyway, who says, not removing his gaze from the tv screen, "Hey, Erica! Did Mark invite everyone he knows here?"

"No," Mark grumbles, regretting this already.

His twin bed can barely fit three people, even if neither of them are very big, so Eduardo sits in Mark's desk chair. Mark doesn't know if he wishes he's jealous of Eduardo or wishes one of the others were replaced with him.

Dustin kills an alien on the screen, and then his eyes light up during the transition scenes when he can pause. "Hey Mark," he says. "I bet this is the first time you've had a  _girl_  in your  _dorm_."

"My sisters helped me move in."

"They don't count." Dustin is positively smirking. "Mark's got a girl in his dorm!"

"You know I'm dating Wardo," says Mark, cheeks flushing.

Eduardo, because he's terrible, echoes, "Mark's got a girl in his dorm!" from Mark's chair.

Mark kicks him. "I'm dating  _you_!"

"I'm in a room with three boys and I'm starting to regret it," says Erica.

She does prove, however, to be better than both Mark and Dustin at Halo, and later confesses that her brother used to play all the time so she ended up kicking ass at it, too. The pizza arrives soon enough and kind of late, but Eduardo pays in full with a decent tip anyway. Erica and Dustin reprimand him; Mark snickers that he doesn't have to.

Erica leaves first later, saying she has to go back to study (Mark bites down a comment about  _needing to study_  at  _BU_.) Then Dustin groans about having an early morning class tomorrow, and it's nearing midnight and Mark toes him off his bed.

"Then leave so I can have more space again," he says.

Dustin rolls his eyes, but he packs his Xbox up and blows a kiss at Mark and Eduardo before heading out Mark's dorm. Mark has been working on thefacebook bit by bit tonight, though mostly occupied with Halo, which he never thought would've happened, before.

Eduardo joins him on his bed and says, grinning, "It's just us now."

Mark lets him kiss him, but something slots in Mark's mind. "Don't you have an early class tomorrow, too?" he asks, when Eduardo breaks apart for air.

Eduardo blinks at him for a moment. "Yeah?"

"You should—" Mark thinks absently back to thefacebook; today had been his free day and while he doesn't regret spending time with his friends, he also shouldn't flake when he's been working on this project for too long. "I gotta code more," he murmurs, glancing down at his laptop. He pulled charger over not long ago.

Eduardo studies him for a second. "You want me to leave?" he asks.

Mark shrugs. That's easier looking Eduardo in the eye, and he would be a hypocrite if he told Dustin to leave because of his class tomorrow and didn't say the same to Eduardo.

Eduardo waits, and then he says, "Okay." Mark doesn't watch as he gathers up his stuff, which is only a jacket and his briefcase. He pauses in the middle of the room, seeming to be contemplating something—then he leans over Mark, catching him by surprise, kissing him again.

"I'll see you later?" Eduardo says seriously, looking into his eyes.

Mark doesn't know what he's looking for. "Yeah, Wardo," he says. Then Eduardo's gone.

It feels open-ended at that, but it's probably just Mark's imagination and he wires himself in, again.

He gets a good chunk of thefacebook done, though moments before falling asleep on his keyboard, something in his brain reminds himself that he hadn't done as much as he could've. He ignores it.

***

The week proceeds accordingly, though Mark spends most of Monday hating himself for taking on an extra work shift in addition to his late night one, and falls asleep the next day in class with the files for thefacebook in front of him in the middle of a classics class. His instructor actually wakes him up and glowers as Mark meekly puts his laptop back into his backpack, when he's awake.

He collapses onto his bed when he's done, out like a light before he knows it. He wakes up to dim light washing across the room when he doesn't remember turning on his lamp. Mark shifts over and finds a pair of feet in the way.

Eduardo looks up. "You awake?" he says, from where he's sitting in Mark's desk chair.

Mark rubs his eyes, yawning. "When did you get in?" he asks. It's dark outside; he feels both well-rested and not rested enough.

Eduardo waves the pen in his hand. "A couple of hours ago," he says. "I put some food in your fridge, too, if you're hungry."

Mark grunts. "Thanks," he says, going over to it. He finds a cold sandwich inside, and eats it up quickly.

Eduardo watches him from the desk, unmoving. He's smiling though, and Mark half-expects him to get up at any second to start touching or kissing Mark again. When he doesn't, after Mark throws out the sandwich wrapper, he goes over and braces his hands on the chair armrests, bracketing Eduardo's body.

Eduardo looks up at him. "Hi," he says, still smiling.

Mark bends down. The kiss lasts for a second, before Eduardo pulls away laughing. "You taste like sandwich," he says.

"Your fault," Mark says.

"My fault." Eduardo rolls his eyes, but puts his notebook down so Mark can get comfortable in his lap.

They kiss like that on Mark's chair for a while until it's too much strain on Mark's back. Eduardo's hands are under his shirt, when Eduardo suggests, "Let's move to the bed," and Mark shivers because Eduardo's hands are a little colder than his own skin and he says, "Yeah." He begins to move, but Eduardo fastens his hands under Mark's thighs and actually tries to lift him up and over. Since he's obviously not as strong as he thinks he is, he makes one step forward before stumbling. Mark's head bangs against the soft side of his mattress.

"Wardo," he gripes, as Eduardo bends into him, laughing.

"Sorry," he says. "I just—I wanted to see if I could do that—"

"This is embarrassing." Mark pokes his shoulder. "Get up. I refuse to have sex on the floor."

Eduardo rolls his eyes, but he does get up, helping Mark onto the bed. They work each other's shirts off, Eduardo pulling and sucking at Mark's nipple with his teeth until Mark is red and whining against him. Then their pants get off too, and it's too hot in the room for Mark to tug the blankets onto them, and Eduardo's ass is right  _there_ , and—

Eduardo is kissing Mark so hard in the mouth like they haven't done this a billion times before, and Mark's hand snakes down. He slides his palm over Eduardo's ass easily, squeezing it.

He gets a small moan of pleasure in his mouth as a response. "Can I," Mark breathes, as Eduardo pulls away a little.

Eduardo's eyes are dark, and he grabs for Mark's wrist, ushering Mark's fingers into his mouth. Mark just watches open-mouthed as Eduardo's lips close around his fingers, sucking hard and dirty, not breaking their gaze. Mark's not even sure if either of them blink.

Then Eduardo pulls off with a loud  _pop!_  and goes, "Yeah," and it takes too long for Mark to remember that he's answering his question from before.

It's kind of dry and Eduardo hisses when Mark runs his saliva-slicked fingers around his rim, barely slipping in at first and then too hard the first time around. They get Mark's lube soon enough, making it easier for Mark to probe around before sliding into Eduardo properly, this time with Eduardo leaning forward on his elbows and Mark sitting back, watching as his finger disappears inside Eduardo.

He's, like,  _tight_ , and hot, and shit, Mark didn't think this would be this much of a turn on for him. Eduardo groans in between his elbows while Mark tries to keep his cool and watches as Eduardo's asshole pretty much takes Mark in like it's begging for it. Mark thrusts with wonder, Eduardo making very undignified noises from being crouched forward.

Mark keeps fucking him with that one finger that it takes him a moment before he realizes that Eduardo is saying something, and Eduardo is saying, "Another," between his gasps.

"Yeah, okay," Mark says.

He doesn't know what he's doing right, but Eduardo seems to really like having Mark's fingers in his ass, and Mark is getting harder at how fucking hot he is, Eduardo's hole getting redder and puckering when Mark goes from two to three, for some amount of time later. He's found Eduardo's prostate, rubbing around it when he can, angling away every so often to tease. Eduardo bucks forward and then he's completely facedown on Mark's bed, yanking at his cock once, twice, before spilling all over Mark's bedsheets.

Mark doesn't realize how heavily he's breathing until once Eduardo's done, the sound of panting around his ears doesn't stop. He sits on his ankles with his hard as fuck cock, until Eduardo looks over at him, face still smushed in the mattress, and says, "Come here."

Eduardo gets him off in probably record time, Mark spurting over both of their chests. Mark slumps half on top of him as they both catch their breaths.

"We should get cleaned up," Eduardo says finally. His chest rumbles when he speaks.

"Meh," Mark says against his pec.

"Mark." Eduardo bumps Mark's side, with the back of his hand. "And your sheets need to be changed, too."

"What time is it?" Mark asks, as Eduardo lightly pushes him off before pattering out of bed to head to the bathroom.

It's not too late, but Mark remembers that he has a pretty significant chunk of time between now and his class tomorrow, which is closer to noon. As Eduardo comes back with two wet hand towels, throwing one to Mark, Mark says, "I'm going to work on thefacebook after this."

Eduardo rolls his eyes. "Come on Mark, take a break."

Mark huffs through his teeth. "I already took a break, I basically slept the whole day." He wipes himself off, before bunching up the towel and tossing it into his dirty laundry pile. Eduardo rolls his eyes and goes over to pick it up.

"Do you have spare sheets?" he asks, then, "I meant for the day, Mark. Didn't you spend all day yesterday working on thefacebook?"

"Yeah, but not today," Mark says pointedly. He digs through his drawers and puts on a clean t-shirt, then goes down to find pants. "You don't have to stay, if you don't want to."

"I want to, Mark, it's just—"

Eduardo lets out an impatient noise that Mark can't read. Mark stares at him as he pulls his pants on.

"Never mind," Eduardo says, shaking his head.

Mark opens his mouth to tell him that he hates it when people say that. But Eduardo smiles, so maybe it's nothing to worry about. "I'll get out of here," Eduardo says, while wearing the smile.

Mark nods, guilt tugging at his gut. He sees Eduardo to the door, and kisses him before he leaves. Eduardo kisses back in surprise, but looks pleased when he heads off.

Their schedule for the week bounces between Mark wiring himself in to keep up with thefacebook, and Eduardo attempting to pry his computer away from his fingers every once in a while, though that usually ends up with sex. On Saturday, Eduardo disappointingly has an end of the term essay to work on, so Mark walks to and from work alone. The weekend is surprisingly lower maintenance than he'd expected; Mark works on thefacebook through Sunday feeling like something is missing. It isn't until the mid-afternoon until he realizes that Eduardo hasn't been around all day, but when he checks his phone, he doesn't have any new messages or missed phone calls. So Eduardo is probably busy with something today, anyway. Mark sticks a Red Vine into his mouth and redirects his mind to thefacebook. Later Erica texts him bitching about some coupon for Dreamweaver she got; they both have a burning hatred for wysiwyg html editors.

He passes out at some point when it's still Sunday, or maybe a little bit into Monday. Mark wakes up with his keyboard pressing into his cheek. His phone's light is on, with  _1 new text message._  Mark thinks about opening it, but then he notices the time and remembers that he has a class in twenty minutes. "Shit!" he exclaims, shooting his head up and nearly giving himself whiplash from the speed.

It isn't until he's heading to some dining hall (any dining hall) to resolve the issue of his stomach feeling strangely like something ought to be in it when someone jostles him from the side. Mark is ready to ignore whoever they are, because people usually do that by accident and annoyingly.

But Eduardo's voice says, "Did you get my text?"

"Oh." Mark looks up. Eduardo is peering at him, maybe a bit worriedly. "Hi." He fumbles his phone out and opens up the message.

_You should go to sleep early so we can get breakfast tomorrow :)_

Mark's stomach lurches with something funny, this time not with the need to be filled. "I did," he says, looking at Eduardo again. "But Wardo, you know that this is a stupid request, I always stay up late on Sundays, I don't have class until eleven."

"Yeah, yeah." Eduardo rolls his eyes, but nudges Mark lightly. "So since you didn't eat breakfast, where do you want to go for lunch?"

They split after lunch, and it's both nice and strange that they didn't like, bang in the restroom or something, though Eduardo does kiss Mark on the cheek before leaving. He smirks when Mark blushes and elbows him, but doesn't apologize and bids him farewell after making promises to visit him at work later tonight.

Mark looks forward to it, as much as anyone else can look forward to their significant other visiting them during a graveyard shift. Whoever's supposed to man the desk from one to two is apparently sick, or pretending to be, so Mark's at the desk the whole time.

He's staring into space, wondering when Eduardo will come, when the door to circ opens and Chris comes out. Mark watches as he wheels his usual truck of books around the desk, pushing past the door and to the back.

"Hey," Chris greets. Mark nods in response.

Chris files one book away, before looking over Mark's shoulder. "Is that the website you're working on?" he asks, to where the window for thefacebook.com is open.

"Yeah," Mark says. "Can't work on it at the desk, though, Carlton's still in the back."

"Ah." Chris snickers before returning to his truck. Mark's told him as much as he's told Dustin about thefacebook; it is, in the general sense of the word, live, but only if some random person decided to type in www.thefacebook.com into their address bar.

"I don't know how much I should save up," Mark says, clicking around the website. The 'about' is written up, though Mark had already spotted a typo in the Terms of Service he's itching to correct. "It's gonna be big, I can't let the servers crash after five hundred people sign up."

Chris hums. "There are over fifteen thousand people in Harvard," he says. "Can't have it crash at five hundred."

Mark groans and does the math in his head. "Maybe I should stay for the summer," he grumbles.

"Oh, don't do that," Chris says. "You'll be bored out of your mind. I mean, for you," he says, gesturing to Mark. "It might be fun if you're a party person or something—"

"I go out to parties," Mark snaps.

Chris raises his eyebrows.

It's then when Eduardo's voice appears out of nowhere for the second time today. "You do?" he says, and Mark swivels around in his chair to see Eduardo standing there behind the counter.

Mark actually feels his face go soft. He doesn't care. "Hi," he says to Eduardo, who smiles back. "And yes, I do go to parties. That one time—"

"—probably doesn't count," Eduardo snickers. His gaze flickers back to Chris the same time Chris glances at him.

"So," says Chris. "This is the infamous boyfriend."

"He's not  _infamous_ ," Mark bites out, purposefully not remarking on the boyfriend comment. "You're an English major, how are you using a word wrong?"

"And this..." Eduardo looks at Mark, before Chris again.

Mark grunts under his breath. "Chris," he says to Eduardo.

Eduardo's face lights up. "Oh! Like Dustin's pet cat."

"What?" says Chris.

"Nothing," Mark says, glancing between them and suddenly feeling weird. Chris is gay, and Eduardo is—well, interested in guys, and they're both good-looking. It's not that he particularly thinks he's ugly, but he knows neither of them are bad to look at, while Mark has heard himself being called scrawny more than once.

But Eduardo grins. "Hi, Chris, Dustin's not pet cat," he says to Chris. "Unless you don't know Dustin, but I've been under the impression that everyone who works at the library knows each other."

"That's not incorrect," Chris replies. "And I do know Dustin. Apparently he and Mark call me 'Chris from ILL.'" He smirks at Mark.

"You are Chris from ILL," Mark says pointedly.

"Well," says Eduardo, mostly to Mark. "I'm gonna go study for a bit, but I'll see you before I leave, okay?"

Mark rolls his eyes, neck warm. "Yeah, yeah," he says.

Eduardo tugs at his wrist from the counter. "Mark," he prompts, chewing at his bottom lip.

Mark sighs. But he pulls away from the computer a little, so Eduardo can beam and peck him on the mouth before heading back to the reading room.

Chris lets out a low whistle once he's gone. "How'd you score that?" he asks Mark.

Mark shrugs. "I don't know. He'll probably get bored of me one day." He doesn't really mean it, because Eduardo doesn't seem the type to get bored of things easily, especially of Mark—if he was, he probably would've ditched him long ago. But having Chris here and this funny irrational feeling in his chest, and now Mark can—possibly see it. Maybe.

Chris snorts, though. "I doubt it," he says. "He has all eyes for you, man."

"He only has two eyes."

"It's an idiom, like you."

The rest of the work week goes irritatingly fast, though Mark realizes it's because of spring recess, which he completely forgot about until one of his instructors during a Wednesday class mentions it. Term ends after this week and they're supposed to go back—Mark picks up his phone calls from his parents now, scheduling his train ride back—but that also means Mark will have more time to work on thefacebook, which is going by too fast and too slow at the same time. He really only wants it to go faster, though that's hard to achieve when he has three essays and a quiz due this week. He and Erica meet up on Thursday, but they're mostly working on their respective end-of-the-term assignments and exchange less than twenty words to each other.

Friday he's balancing between some dumb speculative essay for psych and thefacebook in his dorm; his train isn't due to leave until later tonight. He faintly hears the click of his door being opened, and then Eduardo is making his way around and leaning against the side of Mark's desk.

"Hey," he says, kicking Mark's foot.

Mark has a red vine in his mouth and typing code while keeping the references for his paper up on his laptop. "Hi Wardo," he says, without looking up.

Eduardo watches him for a second. Then he coughs.

"I, uh," he says. "I gotta leave for break now." He gestures somewhere to his side.

Mark tears his gaze away from both his screens to see that Eduardo does, indeed, have a suitcase (along with his briefcase) resting on the floor of Mark's room. "Already?" he says without thinking.

"'Already'—Mark, break's just started." Eduardo looks amused, though. "Are you going back?"

"Yeah, later tonight," says Mark, returning to his computer. Something halts in his brain when he realizes that he hadn't told Eduardo sooner—but he has now.

"Okay." Eduardo stays on Mark's desk, one leg where it's hitched up dangling off. "Are you gonna kiss me goodbye?"

Mark rolls his eyes, but says, "Fine." Eduardo's smile is wide as Mark lifts himself up, and Mark prepares himself to kiss him—Eduardo's goofy smile won't leave.

"I can't kiss you like that," Mark says, annoyed.

"You can try," Eduardo suggests. He takes Mark's hands in his and pulls them close together. Their foreheads bump and Mark says, "Ow."

"Sorry," says Eduardo. He rubs at Mark's forehead. "Don't get lost in code too much over break, okay? Text me."

"Yeah," Mark says absently. He's not sure if he's agreeing to texting him or not getting lost in code, though he can't really honestly promise the latter.

Eduardo tilts his head up and kisses him properly. It's sweet and open-mouthed, and for some reason it feels so  _long_  for Mark—he kisses back, lips moving in waves. Eduardo pulls away entirely too soon.

"Have a good break," he says, sounding happy.

Mark watches as he gets up from his perch on his desk and heads to the door. Something in the air feels off, but maybe that's just because Mark took too long of a break from working.

***

In the evening he heads off to the train station (and had only remembered because all of his sisters, and his parents, called in succession to remind him) with all of his essays done and mind nagging with small details of thefacebook that he physically has to stop himself from pausing in the middle of the walkway and whipping his laptop out to work on it.

His older sister isn't coming back for spring break, which is both a relief and disappointing; his younger ones are somehow louder and more annoying, as if to make up for her absence. Mark does his best to work on thefacebook, though by persuasion only holes himself up in his room half the time, the other half in the living room or in the kitchen while his father complains about his sugar addiction (and his mother sliding him a pack of Red Vines under the table, anyway.)

Eduardo had texted him the day after he'd gotten back, but Mark forgets to reply until the next day, when his youngest sister is bothering him to help her with her math homework.  _How's New York?_  reads Eduardo's text. Mark thinks about asking him how Miami is, until he realizes that he doesn't really know much about north Florida at all.

_Sisters suck. Don't get any._

_I'll try not to_ , reads Eduardo's text, later that evening.

And then because a bunch of colleges have spring break, or at least all the colleges that Mark's classmates at Exeter had gone to, someone from his old fencing team invites him to some party this week, even though Mark had completely forgotten that he had anyone's number from high school. He debates on going, because he doesn't want to really go  _socializing_  with  _people from high school._  But there's probably also free drinks, and if that asshole from his senior history class turns up, Mark can laugh in his face about the 2002 local elections, so he decides to go.

It is as wonderfully terrible as expected, because the asshole from his history class does turn up, and so do a handful of hot girls and some guys from gym Mark had always wondered why he stared too long at. Of course, he remembers Eduardo, lithe and hot both beneath and under him, and smirks; they've all got the shorter end of the stick when Mark has fantastic sex (among other things) on a weekly basis. He gets drunk, argues with half the people at the party, drinks his weight in water, throws up, and drives back home at four in the morning. He passes out on his bed and doesn't wake up until noon the next day.

His mother wakes him up in the morning. "Some party," she comments, looking down at Mark, whose clothes are stained and still from yesterday. "You missed pancake breakfast."

Mark groans and rolls over, stuffing his face into his pillow.

His phone buzzes. Mark grasps blindly for wherever it is on his bedside, or the other side of the bed, or somewhere in that direction. He finds it eventually when he leans over to see that it's dropped on the floor. Mark picks it up, thinking about maybe coding as he flips his phone open.

The text is from Eduardo, and though it isn't a surprise, Mark's heart jumps anyway.

 _I miss you too!_  it says.

Mark furrows his eyebrows. Not that it's past Eduardo to give him sentiments like this, especially with an exclamation point—but the  _too_... Mark goes into his sent messages.

And there is one to Eduardo, sent at sometime around one in the morning last night, that Mark doesn't remember typing at all.

_i miss yuou_

Mark snorts and goes back to Eduardo's text. He thinks about telling him that it was a drunk text; but it's not like the message is untrue, and the abysmal spelling of  _you_  is a pretty evident indicator of his lack of sobriety. Eduardo can deduce things, like the smell of the air indicating rain and stock market predictions. Mark wouldn't date anyone stupid.

The rest of break is easy enough, aside from one random time when Mark's in the middle of coding and remembers Eduardo sucking him off under his desk and took a break for ten minutes to jerk off, thinking of Eduardo's face and fingers and mouth. Other than that, Mark gets a significant amount done for thefacebook, between his sisters begging him to take them to the zoo and his parents pestering him to go outside because it definitely looks like you've gotten paler at college, Mark, just because it's Massachusetts doesn't mean you have to shut yourself in all the time.

Mark is glad that spring break is only a week long; he arrives back Sunday afternoon, lugging his suitcase in. Thefacebook is  _this_  close to being done—he can feel it—and the time allotted over the past few months will pay off soon, between everything else.

Eduardo calls him in the evening after Mark's already grabbed food from the c-store and meandering on thefacebook for more typos. "Hey, are you in?" says Eduardo's voice through the static.

Mark clicks around, reading the TOS for what feels like the the billionth time that he nearly has it memorized. "Yeah," he says.

"Cool," says Eduardo. "Can I come over?"

"Sure."

Mark hangs up, cursing Student Legal when he finds two commas mashed together. Eduardo comes in not five minutes later, in a button-up and nice slacks and beaming.

"Mark," he says, sitting on Mark's bed and dragging Mark's chair away with his foot. Mark yelps, reaching for his keyboard.

"Whoa—Wardo, hey! Give me ten minutes." Mark tries to reach for his keyboard again.

"I gave you all break." Eduardo looks amused, and is successful in pulling Mark over, mostly because Mark gives up on fighting. He tries to glare, or maybe pout; it is ineffective as Eduardo just tugs him into his arms and says, "I missed you."

"I gathered," Mark mutters. Eduardo's nose is a little chilly even though it's been warming up lately; he rubs it against Mark's neck. "Stop it, that tickles," Mark grumbles.

Eduardo does it again. "Did you miss me?" he asks.

"By the text that I sent you that one night, I hoped you would assume that as well," Mark says grumpily.

Eduardo rolls his eyes and laughs and yeah, so Mark has missed him as well. Eduardo kisses him and maybe it's only been a week, but it's been a week too long so Mark lets him tug him back on the bed, effectually taking a break from thefacebook for a solid half an hour.

Classes start up again, as they do, and Mark's work-class-thefacebook routine resumes, though he skips both of his classes on Wednesday and takes an extra shift for Sunday. He plans on skipping Thursday, too, but when he mentions this off-hand to Erica, she gets this angry look on her face and says, "No. I am not letting you fail out of Harvard for your pet project."

"It's just one class, Erica, don't be dramatic," Mark says, putting his laptop in his bag. "And frankly, I'm insulted you referred to thefacebook as a pet project, when you know that—"

"You've been pouring your blood and sweat and tears into it, yes, I know." Erica sighs. "Don't you think you just—that you should take it slow a little, maybe? You don't know if it'll take off that easily, Mark."

"It will," Mark says confidently, picking up his trash and putting it into a stray plastic bag.

So much of his vision of thefacebook—general function and interface—is becoming more and more alive by the day. Mark is so wrapped up in what it is and what it's  _going_  to be that when Eduardo comes into his dorm later that week carrying a cage, it doesn't register for the first minute until Mark hears a squawking and does a double take.

"What," he says, because Eduardo is just sitting on his bed, staring at him.

"I know," Eduardo says, looking pained.

"What," Mark says again.

Eduardo sighs. "It's a hazing ritual," he says. "For the Phoenix."

Mark's eyebrows shoot up. "You're in the Phoenix?"

"Officially, now," Eduardo clarifies. "It's a hazing ritual, though they told us earlier that sometimes they skip years for this one. Apparently not." He gestures to the cage, where there is, in fact, a large live chicken, squawking about like being in Mark's room is perfectly normal.

Mark snorts. "The Phoenix, a chicken, of course they worship poultry," he says, turning back to his computer. "So what, you have to carry it around and make sure it doesn't die?"

"More or less." Eduardo leans forward, studying his chicken. "Do you think I should name it?"

"No, they'll probably kill it and throw a chicken themed feast. Naming it will only make you attached." Mark resumes typing, setting up the framework for video posts.

"That's terrible," Eduardo says, sounding scandalized. "Don't say that around him."

"It," Mark clarifies. "Gendering it will make you more attached, too."

"What if I want to be attached to a chicken?"

"I sincerely doubt it," says Mark, not removing his gaze from the computer screen. "You don't strike me as a chicken kind of guy."

"I guess not."

Mark can feel Eduardo watching him from the bed, though in an easy way, where Mark doesn't feel like he has to turn around and say something interesting, or really address Eduardo's presence at all. It's nice just having him around; Eduardo's gaze is warm like a blanket, soft and undemanding.

He does poke Mark in the back later, though, saying that it's dinnertime and he'd rather them go out than bring back sandwiches to Mark's dorm again. Mark agrees eventually, though Eduardo physically pries him away from his computer, yanking him up by the arm. "Wardo," Mark says, trying for a glare.

Eduardo pecks him on the mouth instead, and says, "Let's go."

He takes the fucking chicken to the Kirkland dining hall, which is, in fact, serving chicken. Mark snickers as Eduardo hastily moves the cage by his knee so his real life, sort of pet chicken won't have to see.

"Trying to hide it from the inevitability of death is also forming an attachment to it, Wardo," Mark says, as they sit down. Eduardo sets the cage on the floor, but then someone nearly trips over it and glares at him so Eduardo despondently moves it to the table.

"I don't want it to have an existential crisis," Eduardo says seriously. "It's so young."

Mark laughs and kicks at Eduardo's ankle under the table.

They eat, though in the middle Eduardo glances at the cage and says, "I wonder if it's hungry. Do you know what chickens eat?" he asks Mark.

Mark scoffs, picking at his tomatoes. "How am I supposed to know?"

Eduardo looks at the chicken wonderingly, then looks at his tray. "I doubt it's eaten at all today," he says. "I should probably feed it."

"Don't let it die," Mark advises.

Then Eduardo actually takes a bit of his chicken food, and shoves it through the bars of the cage. His live chicken, the one that's staring at them imploringly either impossibly confused at what's going on or offended by their eating its brethren right in front of them, pecks at it with its beak.

And then it eats it.

"This is the most bizarre thing I've ever watched," Mark says, blinking. "And I spend most of my time on the internet."

"Or maybe it eats rice." Eduardo reconsiders, poking down at his tray. "Or tomatoes?" He glances at his chicken, who has finished the—well, food chicken, from the floor of the cage. "I feel like I shouldn't feed it chicken again."

"Wise decision," says Mark.

He snickers again as Eduardo feeds his chicken steadily throughout their meal, though with rice and some tomato once, though the chicken ignores the tomato and eats the rice, arguably happily.

On their way back from dinner, Eduardo carries the cage of his chicken in one hand and laces his arm with Mark's with the other. It's kind of awkward but also nice, though when they make their way up the stairs they separate.

"The Phoenix is so dumb," Mark says, as they arrive back in his dorm. "Seriously, what if you just handed off the chicken to someone else to take care of for a week?"

"Do you know anyone who'd willingly take care of a chicken for a week?" Eduardo points out, taking his jacket off.

Mark snorts. "No, but it  _is_  college," he points out. "You could probably find a chicken farmer on campus somewhere."

Eduardo rolls his eyes, sitting back on Mark's bed. "Come code here," he calls to Mark.

"You'll just distract me," Mark says absently. He opens the files up again. "And you didn't tell me you were being initiated into the Phoenix before. Did you think I would judge you, or something?"

"No, I was just—wasn't sure if I'd get in or not, so I didn't want to say anything." Eduardo plays with his ring on his finger. "C'mon, Mark, what am I gonna do in your bed?"

"Sleep," Mark suggests. "And of course you'd get in, the Phoenix is like, the most diverse final club on campus."

"It's okay," Eduardo admits. "I'm not tired, and I probably couldn't sleep with this thing—" he nudges at his chicken's cage with his foot. The chicken stands regally. Mark wonders if chickens can get bored. "—on my mind," Eduardo says.

"That's what you get for being in the Phoenix," Mark says without turning around.

There's a brief silence, punctuated mostly with the chicken clucking once every few minutes. "Did you want to be in a final club?" Eduardo asks.

Mark shrugs. "Once, maybe," he says, and admitting it out loud makes his cheeks feel hot. "But with thefacebook, not really, anymore."

Eduardo hums from somewhere behind him. "I should tell my dad," he says. "Though I should leave out the part about the chicken."

Mark rolls his eyes. "I mean, final clubs sound cool, and they probably lead to a better life if you don't have one already, but c'mon Wardo. Are you really surprised? It's the  _Phoenix_."

"I know the name of the club I'm in, Mark," Eduardo says mildly.

"And you're Brazilian, and you're Jewish, and you're from Miami," Mark says pointedly. "Of course they'd want you."

Eduardo's tone the next time he speaks is hard to read. "What do you mean by that?" he asks.

"What do you mean what do I mean?" Mark taps away at his computer.

"I mean, what do you—never mind."

The  _never mind_  resonates somewhere in Mark's brain, reminding him of one before. He ignores it niggling at his brain, and just says, "I meant what I said, Wardo. It was probably just a diversity thing, that's all."

The moment the words slip out of his mouth, he knows it sounds bad—he doesn't not mean it, a little, but he doubts that it's the sort of thing that Eduardo would want to hear—that anyone would want to hear.

His fingers pause on his keyboard. "Sorry," he says, peeking over his shoulder.

Eduardo's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "It's okay," he says.

"I mean, I'm impressed that you're in a final club," says Mark, spinning around to look at him properly. Eduardo's smile is—different. "I mean, it's the Phoenix, any guy would be lucky to get in one."

Eduardo exhales through his nose. "Yeah. I know, Mark."

Mark studies him carefully, squinting. "Something's wrong. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just." Eduardo rubs at his eyes, looking tired all of a sudden. Mark frowns. "Between you and work and everything—I support you and thefacebook and all," he runs his hand over his face again. "I've just missed you lately, and it doesn't feel like you're taking our relationship seriously."

"What?" Mark snorts. "When did I give you that impression? We've only been in this relationship for like, a month, it's not like I missed a birthday."

"Um," says Eduardo. "Actually."

Mark stares at him.

"It was right before break," Eduardo answers his unasked question. "I—you were working on thefacebook, I didn't want to bother you."

"What date?"

"The nineteenth," says Eduardo.

Mark retraces the date in his head. When that proves to be useless, he turns around and finds the calendar on his computer for the month, finding that the nineteenth of March fell on the Friday right before winter break.

"You came into my dorm that day," Mark says, remembering.

"Yeah," says Eduardo.

"Why didn't you say something? I could've—" A dumb guilt gnaws at Mark's stomach, even though reason is telling him this isn't his fault because Eduardo didn't say shit.

"You were working on thefacebook," Eduardo says, again. He sighs. "And I don't—I really like you, Mark, and I know you like the, um, sex."

They both blush.

"And break," Eduardo continues. "You only texted me twice, and I wasn't even sure if you remembered it the second time."

"I was drunk," says Mark.

Eduardo's smile continues to not look like a smile, strained in all the wrong corners. "Yeah," he says, like that means something.

And a sinking feeling is starting in Mark's stomach, because Eduardo is  _wrong_  and he doesn't—it's stupid, to hear how Eduardo thinks how he feels coming out of Eduardo's mouth, but another part of Mark is saying that Eduardo thinking that is his fault anyway, because how is Eduardo supposed to know if Mark doesn't make him think otherwise?

Eduardo seems to realize this, because he ducks his head down and scuffs his feet against the ground. "I know it's dumb," he says to the floor. "I just—don't know where you are with this."

"Wardo."

Eduardo lifts his head back up.

Mark clenches his teeth, trying to find the proper words for this.

"It is dumb," he says to Eduardo. "But I do, uh, really like you, too. Not just the sex," he adds hastily, "but just like. When I'm coding and you're studying on my bed reading about meteorology or something. It's nice," he says.

Life is returning to Eduardo's eyes. "Yeah?" he says.

Mark makes a mental note to maybe ditch coding once or twice this week and do something so he and Eduardo don't have to have this conversation again. "Yeah," he says, because it's true. "You're—important to me." He nearly stutters on the word. "I'm, um. I'm better when you're around."

He expects some sort of sarcastic comment then, but Eduardo's face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, meeting his eyes and various other parts of his body. "Really?" he says.

Mark huffs. "Do you want me to say it again or in a tape recorder or something?"

"I mean, this is a first, so my answer is naturally yes," says Eduardo, grinning. "But you don't have to if you don't want to."

"Good," Mark grunts.

"Although if you can record it into my phone that would be great."

"I really hope you're joking about that," Mark says, but he gets up from his desk chair and slips between Eduardo's legs.

Eduardo kisses him like it's the first time they're kissing properly, even though Mark can remember that time, early February outside the Kirkland gate. This is warm and spring and in Mark's dorm, with one of Mark's legs between Eduardo's thighs and Mark's other leg hiked up onto his bed, moving his mouth steadily against Eduardo's. This is wet, and soft, and when they pull away to pant—Mark can feel the flush over his own nose and cheeks—Eduardo asks, "Weren't you in the middle of working on thefacebook?"

"Shut up and let me give you a make-up birthday blowjob," Mark growls.

Eduardo grins and does not protest against that at all, letting Mark knock him back into his bed and unfasten his slacks open. Mark mouths at Eduardo's neck while feeling him through his thin boxer briefs, wanting Eduardo to know how much he wants  _him_ —not this, not just this, and not just thefacebook, either. Eduardo moans and gasps, "Please," and Mark whispers against him, "Soon."

"You make me a better person too," Eduardo says, when Mark is stripping Eduardo's trousers off and crouching between his legs.

Mark glares up at him. "Is this really the time?"

"I mean, you said it earlier." Eduardo smiles, running the back of his fingers along Mark's cheekbone. Mark closes his eyes and leans into him.

"For some reason I doubt that I make you better," he says, opening his eyes again to take care of Eduardo's boxer briefs. They're dark blue and tented, and Mark eyes the bulge under them.

"Betterment is subjective," Eduardo says airily, as Mark runs his fingers along the fabric. His breath hitches on the last syllable.

"Not really," says Mark.

He licks along the line of Eduardo's cock through the fabric. Eduardo seizes up, hissing against the back of his palm. Mark tongues at the length, wetting the spot of Eduardo's cock through his underwear, smirking as Eduardo twists and turns on his bed. Mark eventually gets Eduardo's underwear down and off, discarded on the floor and blowing diligently at Eduardo's cock. Eduardo writhes again, knee knocking at the side of Mark's head.

"Jesus, Mark," he breathes, as Mark takes him into his mouth without preamble.

Mark hums as he sucks him off, careful kitten licks at the head, licking and tightening his fist around him at a steady pace. Eduardo's hand snakes down to stroke at the side of Mark's face as Mark swallows around him, taking his time and hollowing out his cheeks. "I'm glad you like me too," he says to Mark.

And it should be a mood killer, but it makes Mark halt and blink a little. "Yeah," he says, still with Eduardo's dick in his mouth.

Eduardo smiles and rubs his thumb at the corner of Mark's cheek.

After he's come, and after they take care of Mark, too (quickly, since blowing Eduardo is more of a turn on than it should be), Mark lies in bed with him, even though his muscles automatically ache to go back to his computer. Eduardo has his arm around him, though, and Mark can admit (mostly in his head) that maybe he has been behaving less than invested in his and Eduardo's—relationship. Thing.

Eduardo runs his knuckles against Mark's upper arm. "Your ceiling is fascinating," he says, amusement laced heavily in his tone.

"Your chicken just watched us have sex," Mark says.

"Oh shit." Eduardo turns to him. "Do you think it's confused? Should I give it the talk?"

Mark laughs and hits Eduardo in the side. Eduardo laughs too, squeezing at a part of Mark he knows is ticklish and nuzzling his nose against Mark's shoulder.

And so that's okay, though Mark knows it's not just because he gave Eduardo a blowjob. So that night when he has to go in for work, he tells Eduardo to stay and also texts him the whole time. Eduardo messages at first,  _Aren't you not supposed to be texting while working?_  and Mark sends,  _I'm shelf reading DVDs, no one comes back here._  (That's not necessarily true as Christy from the desk comes back to get a DVD for a patron, but then she spies Mark texting and asks him if he's talking to  _Eduardo_. Mark tells her to fuck off.)

He gets off at two this shift, walking back with Eduardo. When Eduardo says he should head back to Eliot for his morning class, Mark's first instinct is to let him go. His second is to ask, "Can I stay over?"

Eduardo pulls a face, though there's light in his eyes. "I'm waking up at seven thirty, Mark," he says. "Don't tell me you're going to stay up all night and keep me up."

"No, I'll sleep." Mark hip checks him as they pass Kirkland. "I have a morning shift tomorrow, anyway."

"The one you pull all nighters for?" Eduardo asks, because it  _is_  two in the morning.

Mark shrugs.

He stays over anyway, and they're both too tired to really bother doing anything so they just kiss once and mostly snuggle until they fall asleep, Mark feeling out of place but not in a bad way. Eduardo is a tame sleeper, snoring steadily against Mark's shoulder, both easier and more complicated than he looks. That's Mark's last thought before he drifts off, thinking—knowing that it's worth it for him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!_  
_There are points to be scored. There are games to be won._  
_And the magical things you can do with that ball_  
_will make you the winning-est winner of all._  
_Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,_  
_with the whole wide world watching you win on TV._

Life proceeds as usual, though that mental note of his relationship more rears its head at least once a day. So Mark finds himself texting Eduardo more at work and also letting himself being tugged away for meals off-campus and having Eduardo pay. He doesn't actually mind Eduardo paying, because he  _is_  saving up for thefacebook and Eduardo has like, silk pajamas and stuff. He makes himself grimace once until Eduardo pokes his cheek across the table and says, "Stop that, I know you don't mean it."

Mark has never really been in a serious relationship before, honestly. He knows that the way his heart just kind of feels like it's going to burst out of his chest when Eduardo smiles at him isn't anything small or simplistic, though. He's listened to enough bad pop music about being in relationships and romance and shit, and he thinks he kind of knows what they're talking about now.

Eduardo hasn't seemed to be bothered since Mark told him his feelings and other intangible stuff. But Mark hates the idea that Eduardo will think otherwise of him—worse of him—if he doesn't make Eduardo actually understand. Well he can't  _make_  him understand, but—

There are times when he's at his desk, now, and Eduardo comes into his dorm and says hi and drops a kiss at Mark's mouth before moving to Mark's bed. It'll take Mark maybe a full minute to evaluate the situation, but then he'll hear the distinctive sound of Eduardo making himself comfortable. And Mark is fine at his desk, but his bed isn't any worse, and the whole thing where you're not supposed to work where you sleep is shot in the foot since Mark works on Eduardo's bed at least half the time, anyway.

So he gathers up his laptop and lets himself mourn separating himself from his desktop, but joins Eduardo on his bed.

Eduardo jolts, a little surprised but also pleased, as Mark says gruffly, "Scoot over." Eduardo does, making room for Mark to sit, and then some.

Mark presses himself to Eduardo's side, warm and with one of Eduardo's knees resting on Mark's thigh, since Eduardo is sitting cross-legged. Eduardo nuzzles his cheek on Mark's shoulder before returning to reading whatever he's reading.

And since Mark is distracted anyway, he glances over. "What are you reading?" he asks.

"Public economics and research," Eduardo says, rolling his pencil deftly between his fingers. "It's for my thesis."

Mark nods and reads a paragraph from Eduardo's book and pretends to understand. Then he returns to coding.

Eduardo doesn't always stay the night, because sometimes Mark goes into a coding binge and thinks about apologizing for it until Eduardo drops a kiss to his forehead and rubs a circle on Mark's back before leaving. They get meals no less commonly than usual, though, and Mark is pondering the frequency of Eduardo sleeping over and how often it would be socially acceptable for him to stay over at Eliot as they head to lunch a couple of days later.

He considers asking Eduardo this, but then he figures that Eduardo doesn't care. It also occurs to him that Eduardo might not be living in Eliot next year—the season for signing up for dorms next semester has already passed, and they've never really discussed it.

Mark kicks his toe at the ground. For some reason this gets Eduardo to glance at him, like he knows what Mark is about to say.

"What're you doing for housing next year?" Mark asks.

Eduardo brightens up. "Oh! I'm actually getting an apartment off-campus," he says. Then, hesitantly, "What were you—?"

"I already submitted my application," Mark interrupts. "For Kirkland again."

"Ah." Eduardo quirks an eyebrow. "It's living up to your standards?"

"It's doable," Mark says, rolling his eyes. "Plus, Dustin told me to apply for a double with him."

"And you did?"

Mark smirks. "We were at work, so I roped Chris in, too. We applied for a suite. I think we did it too late," he adds. "Or too early. Dustin thought we were late and Chris tried to tell us we weren't."

"Knowing them I'd say trust Chris," Eduardo says easily, as he swings open the door to the Indian restaurant.

They get themselves seated and the waiter puts their menus in front of them, even though Mark gets the mild chicken korma every time (Eduardo always makes fun of him for saying it's spicy, though Mark's tastebuds have been improving bit by bit.) Mark asks, "How far away is your apartment from campus?"

"Maybe like a fifteen minute walk?" says Eduardo, looking over the beverages. "What do you want to drink?"

"Just beer is fine. Um." Mark's hand twitches by his fork. "Were you planning on just staying there the whole time, or—?"

Eduardo smirks at him, which Mark thinks he totally doesn't deserve. "Is that an invitation?" he asks.

Mark rolls his eyes. "I'm just asking, since we never talked about living together or anything." His cheeks flush and he stares pointedly at his empty plate.

"It hasn't been that long," says Eduardo. "Why, did you want to—?"

"No, no," Mark says quickly. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with living with you, probably," he adds. "But I already—and if we—it could be awkward."

"Yeah," Eduardo agrees. "But I'm glad that you think that there's nothing wrong with living with me. Probably." His grin is cheeky.

Mark nudges his ankle under the table. "Order your diarrhea inducing food already," he says, as their waiter comes over.

"Don't put me off my food when we haven't even started," says Eduardo.

***

And then about a week later, when Mark is alone in his dorm and fast asleep, and had jerked it some time earlier, he dreams about—well. He dreams about Eduardo fucking him, which shouldn't be as surprising as it is, when Mark wakes up with a huge stain in front of his boxers and breathing heavily, imagining Eduardo's dick that has been in his  _mouth_  inside of him. They've been having sex as often as any other couple does, maybe more, so it's not like he's deprived or anything—plus with thefacebook, Mark hasn't needed to be persuaded any less recently into getting into bed.

Mark jerks off and fingers himself, hole burning around his finger and imagining Eduardo's long fingers (which have been in that position before), and then his dick (which up to this point, hasn't.)

It satisfies his desire for the day, but not entirely. Mark meets up with him between work later to walk to class and forgets about it, and then Eduardo comes over to study on his bed while Mark works at his desk, mostly because he actually needs his desktop this time. It isn't until after Eduardo has left because Mark needs to keep coding into the night, and Mark is taking a break to keep his hand from cramping, when he remembers the dream—incidentally also remembering Eduardo's dick.

So he takes another break and lies face down on his bed, masturbating to the scent of Eduardo left on his bedsheets, wondering what it would be like with Eduardo's cock in him—if he sat in Eduardo's lap. Mark pants as his imaginary self grinds in Eduardo's lap, and comes desperately into his hand.

It's not an issue except when it is, mostly because the next few nights basically feel like repeats, which hasn't happened before. Mark isn't an obsessive person, he just gets tunnel vision. For Eduardo's dick, apparently.

So on Friday morning, because the constant wet dreams aren't helping, Mark texts Eduardo,  _I can't stop thinking about you fucking me_  because it's better to be upfront about these things.

He doesn't get a response until he's getting off his shift at work, even though Eduardo usually wakes up earlier on these days.  _That sounds like a problem?_

 _It is_ , Mark texts back, shouldering the library door open and walking out into the cool air,  _when I don't know how your dick feels in me._

The moment he sends it, he realizes it can come off as kind of a proposal in the middle of the day, when Eduardo still has class to attend. Mark does, too, in the technical sense, but Eduardo wouldn't want to skip. Or want Mark to skip, either.

Fortunately, Mark doesn't get another reply until several hours later, when he's walking back from an extended lunch where he'd brought his laptop and coded for two hours after eating. His phone buzzes as he's illustrating some of the friend request system framework in his head, and he physically jolts himself out of code, shoveling his phone out.

_I'm at your dorm._

Mark rolls his eyes, though he can't help himself from smiling. Leaving his door unlocked has basically become habit even if he's not in. Eduardo's probably waiting for him to scold him about how unsafe it is.

When he gets to his dorm, he walks in see Eduardo sitting on his bed. "Wardo," Mark says, letting the door close behind him properly.

Eduardo gets up and, in two strides, has Mark pinned up against his door. Mark opens his mouth to maybe say something about them rutting against doors again, but Eduardo is too quick—he closes the gap, shoving Mark into a hard, aggressive kiss.

Mark makes a surprised sound he will deny later. Eduardo is kissing him dirty and rough, one hand cupped around Mark's jaw to still make it kind of romantic in a way, but flicking his tongue over the roof of Mark's mouth and brushing it harshly against Mark's own tongue. Mark kisses back, confused but definitely not unwilling, arching into Eduardo bit by bit.

"Fuck," Eduardo hisses, when he pulls back. "You have— _Mark_."

"Yeah," Mark says, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that he hopes doesn't make him look like he's protesting. "That's my name."

Eduardo curses lowly, then says, "You have no idea what your texts did to me today."

"I—" Mark glances down at him, where Eduardo is clearly hard even though all they've been doing is kissing, and for less than ten minutes at that. "Well I have an idea now," he says plainly.

Eduardo makes a carnal noise in his throat, and then he kisses Mark again, nipping down Mark's neck and not giving him any time to recover as Mark whines into him, arching a little. "So I guess you're into—you want to do it?" Mark stammers, managing to keep himself upright even though his knees buckle for half a second.

"Of course I want to," Eduardo murmurs, lifting his face up to growl in Mark's ear. "And I want you to fuck me too, I want—shit," his hips grind against Mark's and Mark nearly falls against the door right then and there. "I want to—everything."

"Yeah," says Mark, because he can't think of anything else to say.

Eduardo bites at his shoulder. Mark keens into it. There's also a faint sound of plastic, and then Eduardo's lifting a hand up.

"I bought some condoms on my way over," he says.

Mark's mouth goes dry. "You want to—now?" he asks Eduardo.

Eduardo nods. His gaze is dark, but he meets Mark's eyes, looking unsure. "Only if you want to," he adds.

"Duh," says Mark, feeling his pulse quicken under his skin. "That's why— _obviously_  I do want to Wardo, now, why else would we be talking about this?" He takes one of the condoms from Eduardo's hands and flips it over to read its size and other uninteresting properties.

"Right." Eduardo stares at him for a moment. "Can I have the condom back and kiss you again?"

They make it to the bed soon enough, stripping off their clothes in the process. Mark takes the time to admire Eduardo's bare chest as Eduardo carefully folds his clothes and puts them on Mark's chair. Mark says, "C'mon, finger me already."

Eduardo does, deep and longer today, three fingers and up to the knuckle while Mark moans red against his sheets. Eduardo coaxes him in gently anyway, even though his own cock is dark, hard, and leaking against his stomach; Mark can see it a little when he peeks behind him, forcing his eyelids open.

"Wardo, just— _fuck_ ," Mark moans, when Eduardo brushes up against his prostate. "I wanna come with you in me," he manages out, twisting in his sheets.

He hears a guttural noise behind him, which can only be a good thing. "Yeah," says Eduardo. "I, yeah." He takes his fingers out, kisses at the base of Mark's spine. Mark whimpers, feeling empty.

Eduardo slides the condom on, then hovers over Mark, his cock solid against the back of Mark's thigh. "Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?" he says.

Mark nods, though he highly doubts that he'll want Eduardo to stop. Like, ever.

Eduardo pushes in, stretching Mark even wider than before, filling him up. Mark groans, throwing his head between his elbows. His cheeks and shoulders and chest are burning red, and Eduardo is so hot and thick in him, and it's so  _good_. The tension ripples across Mark's body as he adjusts to having Eduardo in him, the tight hot pressure focused inside, awakening every nerve ending in Mark's body.

Mark stutters out a laugh. "Shit, I," he says. "Eduardo,  _move_."

"I'm still going, you asshole." Eduardo leans over him again. His fingers form a ring around the base of his dick, right where he and Mark are joined. Mark twists and tries to get more of Eduardo in him.

"You are torturing me on purpose," he says, though when Eduardo bottoms out and gets in one sharp thrust,  _right_  against Mark's prostate, Mark actually loses balance and falls forward between his elbows.

It takes them a moment to find a decent pace, for Eduardo actually to pick up a rhythm and for Mark half-heartedly shove his hips back, even though his thighs are shaking with the strain and he is spreading his legs as far as he can without actually collapsing completely for Eduardo to get better angles. Eduardo fucks him with a hand on Mark's hips, pushing himself in deeper—then he crowds over Mark again, sweaty chest brushing against his back, bracing himself on the headboard while winding a hand down to swipe across Mark's cock. Mark groans and gasps, "God, Wardo—better than I could—you're so—"

"Yeah," Eduardo breathes, even though Mark hadn't really said a coherent sentence, and he pumps into Mark deeper. He jerks his hand over Mark's dick sloppily, which is both enough and nothing close. He is panting in Mark's ear and Mark's breaths are coming out just as heavily and with Eduardo fucking him so quick and deep like this—

"Wardo," he lets out, jabs his hand down to find Eduardo's around his dick, both of them getting Mark off clumsily between his body and the mattress. Mark's orgasm hits him as hard as it's built up, rising up his chest and electric in his veins. He splatters all over his own sheets, and his chest, and his and Eduardo's hands.

He's still recovering, but Eduardo's breathing is getting shallower and Mark uses most of what's left of his energy to drive himself down on him. "Wardo," he rasps, and then Eduardo is coming too, warm through the condom and in jerky little shudders, still inside Mark. Mark soaks up the feeling as Eduardo rides himself down.

Eduardo pulls himself out, dark-cheeked but looking pleased. Mark turns on his back, sitting himself up with his elbows, watching as Eduardo takes off the condom and ties it, tossing it into Mark's trashcan. Mark watches the trajectory of his graceful aim.

"So," Mark says, rubbing at his sore ass. "That was good."

Eduardo laughs, eyeing down the line of Mark's body. "More than good," he says to Mark.

Mark shrugs, but can't bring himself to disagree, even jokingly. "Yeah." He grins at Eduardo.

Eduardo grins back. He leans across Mark's body, and pokes at his cheek. "We should definitely do this more often," he says.

Mark bats his finger down, trying to keep himself from still smiling. He can't. "Yeah," he says.

"And also, if you're inclined, we can switch it around."

Mark's breath hitches in that. If he weren't so spent, his dick definitely would've twitched in interest. "Yeah," he says, again.

Eduardo smiles. They sit there just smiling stupidly at each other, until Eduardo bats at his ankle.

"Go work on thefacebook, I know you want to," he says, rolling his eyes.

Mark kind of wants to say that thefacebook is tertiary to things right now (namely, Eduardo, and sex—in that order), but Eduardo's giving him that look where he  _wants_  Mark to do whatever he wants to do—so Mark gets his laptop from his desk and trips back to his bed, carefully avoiding the cum stain. He winds the blanket over his body, which Eduardo also tucks himself under, both of them naked as Mark opens up his computer. Eduardo lays his head on Mark thigh, content.

Mark doesn't realize he's running his fingers through Eduardo's hair until an hour later, though by at that point Eduardo has dozed off on his thigh. Mark files his fingers through Eduardo's soft bangs, now that he's mostly sweat most of the gel out. Eduardo has crazily wild bedhead—Mark has seen—but it's also just soft and long. He can't really see it from here but it feels good, petting Eduardo as he sleeps.

He codes a bit more, a bit squeamish and still sore, especially with Eduardo napping on him. He doesn't mind though, just shifts his thigh a little when it falls asleep under Eduardo's heavy head, getting Eduardo to rest on him at an angle. Eduardo wakes up a couple of hours later, mouth moving against the spot where he's accidentally drooled onto Mark's leg.

"What time is it?" he says, attempting to lift his head up, voice thick.

Mark glances at the corner of his computer screen. "Six," he says, estimating.

"Oh." Eduardo gets up on his elbows, rubbing at his stomach. He turns to Mark. "Want to get dinner?"

"That depends on what constitutes as dinner," says Mark, still typing.

He sees Eduardo roll his eyes, sitting up properly. "I can't believe you sometimes," he says, sounding fond. "Want to take a break from changing the world and ordering pizza?"

"Changing the world has no breaks," says Mark. He frowns. "Why pizza?"

"Why not?" Eduardo shifts a shoulder. "It's Friday."

"I'm not sure what that has to do with pizza."

"Just order a pizza, Mark, unless you want to put clothes back on and go out somewhere."

Mark rolls his eyes, but he switches windows, opening up his internet browser. "One of us will have to put on clothes to open the door when it arrives," he points out.

Eduardo tangles himself up in Mark's blankets. "You can," he says teasingly.

"You say that like you think you can get me to get up."

The pizza arrives a half an hour later, as expected; Eduardo is boring and likes cheese best, but most of Mark's opinions on other pizza toppings are vastly negative, so he's not extremely adverse to it. Eduardo does put on clothes—Mark's clothes—and answers the door. He comes back, sniffing the air.

"Your dorm still smells like sex," he says.

"Yeah," Mark says absently, lifting a hand and grabbing for wherever the pizza is. "Now it'll smell like sex and pizza."

"Maybe we should open a window," says Eduardo.

Mark grunts in response. Eduardo sets the box down to slide Mark's window open, which is a decent exchange because Mark gets the box open and a slice out in one swift motion before returning to his coding.

Eduardo sticks his head out the window for some time before making some remark about the weather that Mark only pays half attention to. He takes Mark's pizza crust and eats it (even though he insists that Mark should), grabs some of Mark's whiteboard markers to doodle on his other window, pictures and algorithms that Mark can barely make out from his bed. He sings some song in Portuguese as he covers the glass with math graffiti.

"What is that?" Mark asks, without resurfacing.

Eduardo stops his humming. "Hm?" he says, turning around, still naked.

"What are you singing?"

"A lullaby my mom sang all the time when I was younger." Eduardo's eyes goes soft. "My dad sometimes, too. I liked his voice better."

Mark grunts, not knowing what to do with that piece of information.

Eventually his stream of coding doesn't stop exhaustion from hitting him like a truck an hour or so later, making Mark yawn hugely without his permission. Eduardo is back on his bed, watching him with amusement. But when Mark returns to his keyboard, Eduardo goes, "We should probably sleep."

" _You_  should probably sleep," says Mark, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Mark," Eduardo chides, bumping his knee. "As much as I enjoy lying here in your clothes talking about Brazil and the weather, our wild night has to come to a close at some point."

"This is a wild night to you?" Mark mutters, still staring so hard at his laptop screen that the brightness of it hurts his eyes a little.

"Mark. I can tell that you want to sleep." Eduardo nudges him.

Then he's taking Mark's laptop, pulling it away and beginning to close it. "Wait," Mark says weakly, reaching for it without moving forward.

"It's not going to die." Eduardo reaches across the room and gets the end of Mark's laptop charger, plugging it in. "See? And you save basically once every four minutes, anyway."

Mark narrows his eyes at him.

"On average," says Eduardo. "I can see you ctrl+s from here."

"You're terrible," says Mark, though he's yawning again. "The opposite of useful. Useless."

"Yeah, yeah." Eduardo gets up to make more room for Mark on the bed—or he's getting up to turn off the lights, which he now does. The darkness is welcome to the back of Mark's eyelids. "Tell me how much I make you a better person again."

"That," Mark says sleepily, "is manipulative."

"Or is it true."

Eduardo is firm and warm against him, and suddenly Mark wants nothing more than to curl in and tuck his head against Eduardo's side. So he does just that.

"It's manipulative and true," he says, voice muffled when Eduardo tugs the blankets even warmer over them.

"The feeling is mutual," Eduardo says happily, and it's the last thing Mark remembers before he falls asleep.

***

In the morning, Mark wakes up to Eduardo getting out of his bed, gently like he doesn't want to wake Mark up. Mark makes a small noise, but he's not sure Eduardo hears it as the warmth pressed beside him disappears and Mark is left with his covers and the spot Eduardo had just been lying in.

He doesn't mind it so much, until he hears his shower turn on. Mark opens his eyes, letting himself debate internally for all of ten seconds—then he's stumbling out of bed and shoving his bathroom door open, naked and stiff and probably smelly but mostly wanting to join Eduardo.

Eduardo turns to him through the plastic see-through door when he comes in. Mark kicks the bathroom door shut behind him. "Hey," he says to Mark.

"Hey," Mark says, letting himself in and immediately getting doused with hot water.

Eduardo is smiling at him, even though the spray is hitting him square on his head. "Good morning to you too."

"Wash my hair," Mark tells him.

Eduardo does, because he already has shampoo sifted through his own hair, so he massages Mark's, getting the soap in deeper than Mark would usually, scraping his fingernails along his scalp. Mark makes content noises as Eduardo scrubs behind his ears.

Eduardo snickers, as foam drips down Mark's neck. "You're like a dog," he says.

"I like dogs," Mark says, not protesting.

"Of course you do." Eduardo finishes off Mark's hair. "Turn off the faucet, will you? So I can scrub my body down."

Mark does, watching and waiting as Eduardo soaps himself up, shivering but still a bit too sleepy to protest. His eyes linger with interest as Eduardo scrubs different parts of his body. It's strange because he doesn't particularly feel like having sex with Eduardo right now (although he wouldn't mind); just existing in the same shower cubicle as him is as unspeakably overwhelming as having Eduardo's dick inside him yesterday.

Mark blinks to clear his thoughts. "What," he says, as Eduardo scrubs behind his back, "are you going to help me shave after this, too?"

Eduardo quirks an eyebrow. "I can if you want me to," he says.

Mark's cheeks go pink, and he averts his gaze to the side. "It's okay."

He feels a bit like he's in a movie as they finish up their shower and towel each other off, Eduardo trying to help him dry his hair before Mark tsks and says, "Let me do it." There are exchanged remarks and insults about each other's hair that more or less amount to nothing, and then Eduardo is urging him to breakfast before work, and then Eduardo gets a fucking omelet for breakfast that Mark steals from because all he'd gotten was a piece of toast and a fruit cup.

And Mark didn't think he could be this happy with someone before, but that is Eduardo—halving Mark's productivity with thefacebook, in all honesty, but not in a way that Mark minds. He sees Eduardo when he comes in and out of work sometimes; he texts Eduardo at random times during the day (especially once when he passes a store display that he thinks Eduardo would find funny); he has Eduardo's hand splayed across his chest or tangled in his when Eduardo feels like it, and Mark isn't embarrassed enough to pull away.

And then there's also when they're just walking up Widener's steps, and Eduardo says casually, "You know, having sex in the stacks here is one of the three acts to do at Harvard."

Mark rolls his eyes, because he'd heard it all before from his sister, who'd graduated last year. "What, did you piss on the John Harvard statue already?"

"For the record, it's not John Harvard," Eduardo says mildly. "And I—no, but I've been thinking about it, before."

"Pissing on the not-John Harvard statue?" Mark looks at Eduardo incredulously.

Eduardo bumps his shoulder with his, grinning. "No, I meant fucking in the stacks sometime."

Mark raises an eyebrow, though his heartbeat quickens by a millisecond. "You'll need to get someone in the stacks with you, first," he says.

***

And so week later, Mark is taking off for his break the moment Eduardo comes into the library, pulling Mark in by the hand and kissing the living daylights out of him. "Hi," Mark tries to say against his mouth, and Eduardo says, "Hi," back before kissing him again.

Mark tries to tug away, but only for show—he doesn't really want to. "We're being a public nuisance," he says.

Eduardo grins. "We can be even more of a public nuisance right now, if you want."

Dustin, who is doing overnight with Mark this shift, apparently overhears, because he says, "Oh my god, you guys aren't."

Eduardo looks over Mark's shoulder. "We planned."

Mark scoffs. " _You_ planned."

"You agreed," says Eduardo, smiling and kissing Mark on the mouth again.

"Please stop talking about this and just leave," Dustin groans, burying his head in his hands. "I think I need to bleach my brain."

Mark keeps his hand in Eduardo's as they take the stairs down to the stacks, walking all the way to Pusey, where it's the most secluded and least likely to have someone accidentally find them, especially since it's about one in the morning. He's buzzing with anticipation, admittedly; he doesn't _want_ anyone to find them, but the rush and possibility is thrilling.

"English lit or church periodicals?" asks Eduardo as they make their way past the shelves.

Mark shakes his head. "Not English lit. And this better not get me fired."

"You could talk your way out, I'm sure," says Eduardo; he's smirking.

Mark pulls at his hand with purpose. "Your confidence in my bullshit abilities is flattering," he says dryly.

They find a secluded enough spot, and as soon as Mark tugs them into the aisle, he shoves Eduardo against a shelf, dragging Eduardo's mouth on his. "Did you bring lube?" he asks, as Eduardo kisses back eagerly.

Eduardo takes the bottle and condom out of his pocket. "I'm always prepared," he says.

Mark just wants to keep kissing him again, though, so he does, occupying himself with Eduardo's lips and teeth and tongue. He grinds against Eduardo but is content like this, the shelf rattling behind Eduardo's back as their hips roll and brush. Eduardo groans into him, holding Mark's face with his palms, as Mark's hands squeeze at his upper arms, shoulders, pressing against his body from head to toe.

Later, they have switched positions, Eduardo fumbling with the condom as he presses Mark against the rickety stack with one knee. Mark pants and tries not to move the shelf too much as Eduardo gets himself prepped with one hand, sliding lubed up fingers into Mark with the other.

It stings, as usual, and Mark tries to keep his muscles from tensing too hard, to let Eduardo in. Eduardo presses his mouth against Mark’s ear and whispers, “Relax, relax,” and Mark wants to say something about how it’s not like he’s _actually_ protesting, but Eduardo’s fingers are long and soothing that he tries to lose himself into the sensation instead. Eduardo’s two fingers curl and Mark’s knuckles turn white against the bookcase; the front-tail of Eduardo’s untucked shirt grazes against the slip of his backside.

"Ah," Mark gets out, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he rides on Eduardo's fingers. "You should—another, probably."

“You sure?” Eduardo asks, but Mark nods, so Eduardo slips out, reapplying, slipping back in. Mark groans and grinds himself down vertical; he and Eduardo have had penetrative sex at least twice since the first time (once with switched positions), so his legs are more used to the strain and the weight.

Soon enough, Eduardo is hot against his leaking hole and sliding in harshly, both of them hissing against each other as quietly as they can, though that's hard when the burn still makes Mark feel like he's being split in two. They hear footsteps before Eduardo's even fully seated, and halt, panting against each other.

The footsteps are getting closer—Mark is frozen in place, trying not to breathe. He can feel the rise and fall of Eduardo's chest against his own heartbeat, and fuck, Eduardo's still _in_ him.

But the footsteps fade away suddenly, not passing by their aisle. Eduardo breathes a sigh of relief, slumping against Mark's chest, as Mark huffs out a small snicker from where he's leaning against a row of books.

"We should get this over with quick," he whispers in Eduardo's ear.

"And miss out on all the fun?" Eduardo's eyes glint mischievously.

Mark cuffs him a=on the shoulder.

Eduardo does make a point to fuck him quicker than usual, though, sliding in and out with sharp thrusts that hit Mark in the right spot almost every time. Mark tightens his arms around Eduardo's shoulders, winding his legs around and letting Eduardo hold him up as Eduardo pistons his hips, biting at Mark's shoulder and rocking the shelf behind them every so often. "We're making so much noise," Mark murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of Eduardo's ear.

"Not—really," Eduardo grunts, driving in deeper. Mark tightens around him, and Eduardo goes, "Fuck— _Mark_."

"Accomplished," Mark says, and Eduardo laughs into Mark's shoulder. "Stop moving so much."

"How are either of us going to finish if I don't?" Eduardo mutters.

Pusey is lightened basically all hours of the day, so it's lucky that no one walks by them again, despite it being the dead of night. Eduardo comes only seconds after behind Mark, stilling and hot inside him as Mark is in the middle of winding down, useless trapped between Eduardo's body and the shelf. Eduardo pants once, slipping out of Mark and taking care of the condom.

"Aren't you supposed to, like, leave a memento when you're done?" Mark asks, glancing around.

"I don't think anyone's going to enjoy finding a used condom tucked in a book," Eduardo says dryly, pulling their pants back up.

"I wouldn't like finding women's underwear, either," Mark points out. "Or men's underwear," he adds as an afterthought.

***

To Mark's despair, or more accurately, Dustin's and any coworker who doesn't have a big mouth and talks to Dustin's despair, this isn't the last time they have sex in the library. Apparently Eduardo has some sort of library kink, or a kink for Mark nearly getting caught and fired from his job, because a few weeks later while he's out from circ and supposed to be heading upstairs to reorganize shelves for the stacking team, Eduardo finds him and tugs him down the front steps and pulls them into the memorial room.

"What are you doing?" Mark hisses, ignoring the hot pull in his stomach when Eduardo presses against him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Eduardo asks, grinning.

"It looks like you have some sort of exhibitionistic streak, which, considering I'm  _at work_ —"

"So you'll get paid having sex," says Eduardo, and pushes Mark against the door before tugging Mark's pants down.

Mark has to admit that there is some merit to feeling like someone's going to knock on the door or try to open it at anytime, though no one does. His shoulders tremble as Eduardo sucks him off, and it's actually kind of unbelievably hot when Eduardo swallows it all before popping off.

"So I expect you want me to do the same," Mark says, as Eduardo pulls back, wiping what's left dribbled on his chin.

Eduardo shrugs and gets to his feet. "Not really," he says. "I've just been thinking about blowing you in here since I first saw you—"

And that kind of makes Mark's brain freeze. And shortly after, his fingers are digging deep into Eduardo and not letting Eduardo touch himself until he comes, all over his front. Eduardo moans about it later, but Mark tells him that it was his fault anyway, wanting to blow Mark in the first place.

He is working with Christy today, who narrows her eyes at them suspiciously when Mark comes back looking rumpled and Eduardo trailing behind him, shirt half-tucked into his pants.

"What?" Mark says to her innocently.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," Christy says.

"I already wiped something else off my face," replies Mark, without missing a beat.

Then Carlton comes over, though thankfully without having heard any part of their conversation, and reminds Mark that he's supposed to be restacking books on the fifth floor.

Mark doesn't mean to tell Erica about it—really, this isn't something she cares about, most likely—but only a few days later she asks him if he's working over finals week and he says, "Probably not, or else Wardo's gonna get so stressed he's gonna wanna fuck in a study room."

Erica chokes on her orange juice. " _What?_ "

She scolds him, and when Eduardo arrives early from a class to meet with them, she scolds him too. Eduardo has the decency to scratch the back of his head, looking embarrassed; Mark juts his chin out haughtily and says, "How many people can say they've fucked in Widener twice?"

"They would think you're a nerd who likes books and sex too much," Erica says pointedly.

"Well they wouldn't be wrong," Eduardo chimes in.

Then it's Mark's birthday, wherein Mark fully expects Eduardo to wrench his laptop from him for the day and take him out, but instead Eduardo just studies next to him while Mark codes and later suggests that they go out for dinner, where he pays for Mark's drink and the rest of the meal as if he hadn't before. He gives Mark his present (gloves, even though it's spring) before they proceed to have slow lazy sex for the rest of the night, Mark thinking about working on thefacebook and deciding not to.

The week after that is finals week, agonizingly slow, and Dustin invites him and Eduardo and Chris to  _another_  end of the term party. Mark is fully set on not going, but Eduardo says he will before Mark can reply, so Mark begrudgingly agrees to, too.

"We shouldn't go," he says, when they're walking back from the library. "We can just study."

"You hate studying if it's not on the computer," Eduardo says pointedly. "And we're going." He laces their fingers together.

Mark's arguments are flimsy and futile anyway, and the party turns out better than expected. He and Eduardo go together, for one; Chris finds them first, and Dustin soon enough, the both of them soon on their way to drunk. Mark watches Eduardo humor them, the anxieties and thoughts about thefacebook and classes loosening in his mind.

Eduardo looks at him and says, "Yeah?" and Mark smiles a little and says, "Okay."

They both get spectacularly drunk, and laughing and impossibly thoughtless, riding high on everyone else's excitement. When they get back to Eduardo's, which somehow they both agreed would be a shorter walk than heading back to Kirkland, they both discuss openly about having drunk sex as soon as they walk into Eduardo's dorm.

They pass out on his bed before they even get their pants off.

And finals are actually hell, though no better or worse than any other. Mark and Eduardo gripe to each other about their respective classes without understanding what the other is saying, but Mark passes his OS exam with flying colors and Eduardo comes into the library while Mark is at a shift, excitedly telling him and Christy (who is working the desk with Mark, again; Mark is beginning to think she has an agenda) that his professor loved his essay.

And then they have end-of-the-term sex (which is good) and end-of-the-term post-sex cuddles (which are better) and Eduardo tells Mark to text him over the summer. He adds, "Don't just tell me you miss me and complain about your sisters," which surprises Mark; he'd thought that would be a sore spot.

"I'll tell you if I eat chicken for dinner, too," he says, and Eduardo throws his head back and laughs.

On the day that Mark is supposed to leave, his parents arrive as scheduled, helping him pack everything away and putting most of the larger stuff in storage. While they're getting his suitcase ready, they argue about what clothes he should bring back ("You would look nice in this, honey." "Mom, I've literally only wore that once, and that was when I tried it on in the dressing room before I came here.") They're so busy packing that Mark doesn't notice the knocking at his door until he's arguing with his dad to bring his desktop home and stops in the middle of his sentence.

"Does anyone else hear that knocking?" he says, because his mother had been watching the two of them with amusement without any real help.

It comes again, through their silence.

"You should get that," his dad says unhelpfully.

Mark rolls his eyes and stumbles over the already packed boxes to get the door open. He's surprised when he finds Eduardo behind it.

"You never knock," he says.

"You—I heard noises." Eduardo peers over his shoulder with interest.

"Who is it, honey?" calls his mother. "Is it your RA?"

"Are your parents in?" Eduardo asks, sounding entirely too curious.

"Yes, and they're annoying," Mark grumbles.

His father comes up behind him, saying, "We are not annoying." He looks up at Eduardo, mildly. "Are you Mark's RA? It's nice to meet you."

Eduardo is clearly fighting his urge to laugh when he accepts Mark's father's outstretched hand, going along with it enthusiastically.

"When we were helping Mark move in on freshman year, his mother accidentally dropped a bunch of Mark's computer stuff on his old RA's foot," his father continues. "We only persuaded Mark to let us come at the end of this term when we reminded him how much stuff he has."

"It wasn't me!" says his mother. "That was all you!"

"I'm—" Eduardo can't contain his laugh, and Mark is busy rolling his eyes to save them from this terrible introduction. "I'm not Mark's RA, but I do hope I won't get any boxes on my foot today."

"Oh, you won't, don't worry," says his father, before retreating back to presumably shove Mark's desktop in a box.

"And those are my annoying parents," says Mark, ignoring another shout of protest.

Eduardo beams, though, like they're the best people in the world. Mark has seen it better directed on him so he just rolls his eyes some more. "You're packing up; is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.

Mark lets him in, even though he knows he's going to need to confront the non-situation situation with his parents. "Guys, this is Eduardo, my not-RA," he says, leading him in. "Eduardo, these are my parents who won't drop shit on your foot."

"Hello again," says Mark's father, as his mother chastises him for swearing.

"We're also dating," Mark adds, to get that out of the way.

Eduardo's head jerks toward him in surprise; his parents' gazes linger maybe a half a second longer on him than they would've otherwise. Then Mark's mother says, "Nice to meet you, Eduardo. I hope you didn't believe my husband when he said that  _I_  was the one who dropped the box."

"It was all you," Mark's father insists.

"It was the both of you," Mark says, to get them to shut up. "Now give Wardo something to do so he doesn't feel useless."

Mark and his father have another squabble over how many pairs of sweatpants he's bringing back to New York ("they all look the same, Mark!" "You and Mom always tell me to do my laundry.) While they do, Mark half-eavesdrops on the conversation Eduardo has with his mother.

"Are you all packed up?" she's asking, trying to get a box closed. Evidently Eduardo is helping her.

"Yeah," he answers brightly, holding down the flaps. "I packed earlier this week."

"Mark is an awful procrastinator," his mother says, and the only reason Mark doesn't jump in to defend himself is because his dad is tossing in a pair of slacks into his suitcase, which Mark didn't even know he  _owned_. "I know he only does it because he wants us to come up and help him. Did you know each other before winter break?"

"Technically speaking," Eduardo says, and there's something sly in his tone.

Mark's mother tuts. "We could've met you at the station," she says. "Ah, well." She lifts up the box. "Can you help me carry this downstairs?"

His parents send both him and Eduardo down to pile the boxes where the other students in the same storage program are keeping them in the lobby, for the storage people to pick up later. "Your parents are nice," Eduardo comments, as they make their way down.

Mark shrugs. "I grew up with them for nineteen years. They're only a little more than tolerable."

Eduardo laughs and sets his box down. "Did they know you—When did you come out to them?" he asks.

Mark lifts a shoulder again. "Just now."

"I mean, that you're—Gay? Bisexual?"

"The latter," Mark confirms. "And. Just now."

"Oh." Eduardo pauses for a second. "They didn't know—"

"I had no reason to tell them before," Mark says, because it's true. There's no point in making a fuss about something that isn't relevant, and Mark never wanted to go through the stress and the angst if there wasn't someone else involved in the first place.

Eduardo looks kind of awed, and Mark says, "What?"

"Nothing," Eduardo says, but he bumps his hand against Mark's and smiles.

They finish packing Mark's boxes and getting him ready to go to the train station. Eduardo kind of hovers afterward—he'd been standing a little farther away from Mark all afternoon, Mark assumes, because his parents are around. As they have another silly discussion about taking a taxi versus walking to the station, Mark stands by Eduardo and presses along his side.

"You can touch me in front of my parents," he says, though he's glad he's keeping his voice low because that could probably be taken the wrong way. Eduardo chokes on air, again. "I mean, they've only seen me be affectionate with one person before and it was my cousin and still terrible. You'd relieve them."

"I just." Eduardo's voice has dropped to a whisper, and he looks embarrassed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Wardo," Mark says, looking at him long-sufferingly.

Eduardo bites his lip hesitantly, but he reaches out to grab Mark's hand.

That promptly gets his parents to stop arguing, though they don't say anything about it and just suggest that they move out of Mark's empty room and head out.

Eduardo walks them to the station, though Mark's pretty sure he hadn't planned to—Mark's father ropes him into a conversation about school and other boring stuff, and Eduardo, still holding onto Mark's hand, chatters away the whole time there. Mark rolls his suitcase behind him with his free hand and pretends to look grumpy as his mother makes sidelong comments about Boston summers and when his older sister used to go to Harvard.

When they arrive at the station, Eduardo smiles at Mark, dropping his hand but giving him a proper goodbye. His parents pretend to be discussing train times and not paying any attention as Eduardo says, "I'll miss you."

"You said that yesterday," says Mark, rolling his eyes. But he says, "I'll miss you too."

Eduardo smiles, looking pleased. He seems to hesitate for a second—but then he kisses Mark on the mouth, once, chaste. He's pink when he pulls back, but Mark imagines he is, too.

"I'll text you," Eduardo says, starting away.

"I'll try to remember to keep my phone alive," says Mark, which is probably the most thoughtful thing he's said to anyone, ever.

Eduardo lights up like a firework, and then he's off.

His parents don't give him shit until they're nearly home and are done grilling Mark about his work and grades and telling him that thefacebook may be important "but so is school, Mark." (Mark tells them that he'd already heard this from Bill Gates a few months ago, more or less.)

His father says, "So, your Wardo friend. He's a good kid."

"Yeah." Mark shrugs. "I know."

His parents glance at each other.

"You are, you know," his mother says. "Using protection?"

Mark's face feels like it's caught on fire and he jerks his gaze pointedly toward the window. "I am  _not_  having this conversation with you guys, and not in public."

"A simple yes or no will do," his father points out.

Mark wills his blood temperature to calm down, and meets his father's gaze as best as he can. "Yes," he says. "Now can we please never talk about this ever again?"

His parents are amused, but seem to trust him, so they do as he asks. They do ask more about Eduardo's studies, though, as if Mark could give them further information on stuff they hadn't already asked him; Mark tells them about Eduardo's summer internship with a bit of pride, and the conversation drifts off from there with thefacebook and Erica getting thrown in (his parents seem more surprised that he has a girl friend than that he has a boyfriend), until they're back home, with his bags and riding on adrenaline and exhaustion.

***

The thing about summer breaks when you're at college is that it doesn't fully hit you until at least a week in, so Mark goes on his regular coding binges and sleeping at odd hours and waking up mostly to code like he had in school, except without the classes and work but still with nagging to eat meals at normal times, though sometimes Mark is asleep during those and procuring Red Vines at two in the morning. But having more time means that more is getting done for thefacebook, though with his mind clear of schoolwork Mark gets at least, like, three other ideas for projects and scribbles them down somewhere so in case he gets bored in the future he can come back to them.

It's summer, but still May, so his younger sisters mostly hate him for being awake when they're getting up from school, and telling him that he smells bad after three days of doing nothing but coding and eating leftovers at midnight. Eduardo texts him and calls him, telling him about sunshine in Miami and how much he loves the humidity (which Mark will never understand.) Dustin emails him because he doesn't like the T9 on his flip phone, and even Erica and Chris remain in contact with him.

Summer recess doesn't fully register until the next weekend, when Mark wakes up and his bed feels achingly cold. He calls Eduardo to remedy that, and it does, and he codes for another forty-eight hours without stopping or really noticing. And he's fine for a while until he feels lonely again, and calls Eduardo again, who is only happy to pick up when Mark is initiating contact first.

Mark doesn't think himself to be a clingy person—he is like, the opposite of clingy, if you asked him. Maybe he and Eduardo had spent too much time around each other in school (which he doesn't believe, really); it's not like Eduardo is a hop, skip, and a leap away from his house like he is when they're back at school. Plus, there's no work for Mark to make them to even catch each other accidentally, or anything, even if they are in the same state. He thinks about driving down to visit Eduardo, but then he actually might come off as clingy, and Eduardo might be busy, anyway, so it would be pointless.

He sinks himself into his coding for about thirty-six hours, which accomplishes nothing except making him take like an eighteen hour nap afterward. He can't even remember if the sun was up when he passes out; he wakes up to a buzzing on his desk, and ignores it at first.

When he begrudgingly realizes that he is more awake than he'd like to be, he rolls over and groans, reaching for his phone.

 _Are you awake?_  reads the text from Eduardo.

Mark calls him.

"Hey," says Eduardo, answering on the first ring. "I was just about to call you, I wasn't sure if it was too late."

"It's like—" Mark pulls his phone away to look at the clock. "Wait, it's like, three in the morning Wardo, why are  _you_  awake?"

Eduardo chuckles on the other end. "I just missed you," he says.

Mark huffs. "That's not an answer."

The chuckle comes again, though this time it sounds more strained. "It's... nothing," he says lightly. "I was just—someone said something that reminded me of you, today, so I was. I remembered how much I missed you."

Mark rolls his eyes, even though his chest does flips. "It's been two weeks," he says, despite himself.

"I know." Eduardo's tone is mild. "So when are you going to come visit me?"

Mark is probably delirious with sleep, because there's no way he just heard that. "What?"

"I looked it up, and we're only a half an hour drive away from each other," Eduardo says. "I know you miss me too, so are you going to come visit?"

Mark stutters out a breath by accident. "I mean—if you want me to," he says.

"Good," Eduardo says.

There is a pause.

"I hope I didn't pressure you to coming down here," Eduardo says, worried this time. "Because if you can't, or don't want to—"

"No, I want to, don't be stupid," Mark interrupts. "I was thinking about it too, just—" He breaks off, not knowing what to say after that.

He can definitely hear a smile in his tone when Eduardo says, "Good."

Eduardo asks about thefacebook then, which Mark is only eager to update him on—he's accomplished in a week and a half the equivalent of what took him five weeks to do while at school, and it'll be more than ready to go live when the fall semester starts. Eduardo tells him about boring people at his internship and not-boring people and his father threatening him with special treatment. (Mark didn't think that could be a threat, but he doesn't completely understand business or Eduardo's family.)

So after that, when Mark is fully conscious and the rest of his family is awake, he tells them about his plans to visit Eduardo in the near future. He gets  _looks_  from his parents and endless questions about Eduardo from his sisters, but he promises to only stay for a weekend and packs condoms to soothe his inner parents in his mind, even though he's pretty sure Eduardo has some in his apartment.

The next week that stretches feels like forever, quelled only a bit when Mark occupies most of his time with working on thefacebook. When he's not doing that—and sometimes when he is—he's thinking about Eduardo, and how he'll see him soon. Three weeks should be nothing but it's felt like forever, so Mark is only happy to drive down to Manhattan, even though city traffic sucks.

He and Eduardo are supposed to meet at cafe for lunch at noon, though Mark gets held up by the congested screaming cars and then finding  _parking_ , and arguing with some asshole for about forty minutes about the ridiculous prices at some garage before finally finding a decent space at the side of the street and vowing to never use a public garage again. By the time he's jogging toward the cafe, it's one thirty and Mark feels like an idiot with his hoodie wrapped around his waist.

Eduardo is standing at the street corner, on his phone. Mark slows when he spots him, taking the time to admire his appearance. Eduardo looks— _good_. Not any better or worse than how he looks at school, because he's wearing a button-up rolled up to his sleeves and black slacks that he's probably sweating under. It's the posturing, Mark realizes—there's something about the way he's holding himself that makes him look very adult, even though he's only a year older than Mark. It's hot.

"Hey," Mark says when he's within earshot.

Eduardo looks up. He immediately relaxes when he sees Mark, and he says, "Hey, you're here."

Mark stares openly at Eduardo's biceps. "Did you eat already?" he says, despite this.

"Yeah, but I can go back in with you." Eduardo pockets his phone. "Did your phone die?"

"Oh—it's on silent." Mark takes it out. "I don't text and drive. Or call and drive."

"Because you forget to check your phone," Eduardo teases. "C'mon, let's get you something to eat."

They head into the cafe and eat and talk about the things they hadn't talked about yet over the summer, plus some. Eduardo holds himself like he does at school, but within the few weeks of his internship and there's just something weirdly  _different_  that Mark focuses too much on. Likely, it's just that it's summer, and Mark's been mostly attached to his computer while Eduardo's been out interacting with professionals for basically the past twenty-one days.

Eduardo has a studio apartment in the city, which he takes Mark to afterward and they graciously christen various pieces of furniture then, and a few other points during the weekend. Eduardo takes him out to see the city even though Mark just wants to hang out in his apartment and work on thefacebook—"I already sacrificed enough time as it is just driving here," he points out to Eduardo. "And I've seen most of New York City before."

"You haven't seen it with  _me_."

"We can do it some other time this summer."

Eduardo's face splits into a grin. He somehow manages to persuade Mark from his computer (Mark genuinely doesn't know how he did it, but twenty minutes later they're walking toward Central Park Zoo and Eduardo looks smug) and they eat street food and people watch.

It's nothing like Harvard—it's  _better_ , the ease, the feeling like real adults, not some dumb kid couple who met at a university library. The weekend goes by entirely too fast, and then Eduardo is kissing him goodbye against the door of Mark's car and saying, "Some other time this summer?"

"When thefacebook is done," Mark clarifies. "It shouldn't be too long."

Eduardo grins. "And I was resigned to the idea of only having phone sex this summer."

Mark elbows him, trying not to blush. "We can still do that, you know," he says.

***

And they do, between Mark dicking around on thefacebook, being terrifyingly close to being done, as June's pushed itself in and Mark knows he only has a week of work left to do. He's gotten a stupid amount done over break already, and having it  _this close_ —there are no loose ends, no feeling that something is missing, everything is perfect and beautiful and rounded out. Mark just has some bugs and functionality to finish up, is all. Thefacebook could go live any minute.

It's not going to, because Mark's not at school and the whole  _point_  of thefacebook is to be a school thing, for now—start at Harvard, expand to other universities eventually, global scale if he can (and he can.) It's not going to go active until at least the first day of school, but it's putting the site on that edge that excites Mark, and he rants to Eduardo about it, even talks to Erica about it until he's pretty sure she'd fallen asleep in the middle of their phone call.

He does think about visiting Eduardo again—is about to talk to his parents about it, actually, when they bring up that some of their neighbors had heard that Mark was the fencing captain in high school and their twelve-year old daughter was wondering if he could give her lessons.

At Mark's grimace, his father kindly points out, "Your website's almost done, isn't it?"

So Mark takes that on because his parents had already said yes and Mark hasn't really fenced since he started college, anyway. The daughter is quick on her feet and understands Mark pretty well, in a way that kind of makes Mark feel like this is what Erica was like when  _she_  was twelve, if Erica was into fencing. Then Mark realizes that he probably needs more girl friends to compare other girls to, and then also realizes he probably shouldn't be comparing girls to each other anyway.

The fencing strains his muscles and makes him tired easily, but he finishes thefacebook as predicted and falls asleep that night, looking forward to only obsessively checking for bugs and typos until fall semester. Maybe he can start one of the dumb projects he'd thought of earlier.

At a fencing lesson with his neighbor's daughter several days later, they're apparently in a photography mood, which is why Mark is forcing himself to smile as they take a picture of him and their daughter. He discreetly steps on his father's foot when his father asks for copies. They say they'll email him.

Mark says, "I don't know why you did that, I looked completely stupid."

"You didn't actually see yourself, so you don't know that," his dad points out, on their drive back. "And you looked the same as you always do."

"So I looked stupid."

But they email his dad anyway, who forwards it to Mark. He doesn't look actually that bad, though his smile is obviously strained. The daughter is cute though, and they're both in their gear with their foils, pink-cheeked and worn under the summer sun.

Mark sends the attachment to Eduardo, despite himself.

 _Oh my god_ , he gets the next morning.  _This is so cute. Is that the girl you've been teaching?_

It's their first conversation through email, and Mark emails back, and the reply comes less than five minutes later. So they message each other like it's IMing (Mark had asked Eduardo if he had AIM, but Eduardo said no) and then they're discussing the next time Mark can come up, and then actually calling about it. With thefacebook out of the way Mark doesn't really care, but when he brings it up over dinner, his parents remind him that they're going to fly out to visit relatives next week.

"How about the week after the next?" he suggests to Eduardo, later.

"The week after—" Mark hears paper being rifled. "The first weekend of July?"

"Yeah," says Mark. "Is there something—why?"

"It's nothing," says Eduardo, too lightly for it to actually be nothing.

"Wardo."

Eduardo sighs. "My parents are coming up. Well my dad comes up every other weekend, but my mom's coming too," he says.

"Oh," says Mark, faltering. "That's okay, should I—"

"No, it's fine," says Eduardo. "I want you to—I met your parents, you should meet mine, too."

There's definitely something in his tone that Mark can't read, though he's beginning to get suspicions. "You're sure," he states.

"I'm sure," Eduardo says.

So Mark flies out with his family to visit his relatives, and then he's packing his backpack and his laptop (though he doubts he'll see much of it over the weekend) to spend overnight with Eduardo a couple of days later. He goes through the same routine of near road rage once he gets into the city, and is glad he's not like those guys who care obsessively about their cars—Mark just barely squeezes his next to a sidewalk. He's not exactly an expert on parallel parking.

He meets Eduardo at his work this time, in the lobby. Eduardo's already outside, brightening up when he sees Mark.

"Hi," he says, though he doesn't come to close, to kiss him or brush his hands against him or anything. "You made it safe?"

"Unless I got some disease on my way walking here, yeah," says Mark. He looks up the building. "This is where you intern."

Eduardo laughs a little, scratching behind his head. "I know it's ridiculous."

"You're getting paid a lot, though," Mark says, shrugging. "Must be nice."

Eduardo leads him inside, still with that distance between them. Mark doesn't question it as they step into the elevator together and make comfortable small talk. Eduardo shows him where he works, and even though he's only a twenty-year old intern, all of his superiors and coworkers treat him with a decent amount of respect. Mark wonders if this is the "special treatment" Eduardo had referred to earlier with his father, or just because Eduardo is Eduardo.

The floor Eduardo works at is spacious and busy, and Mark doesn't try to make a move on him as Eduardo shows him around, introducing him to some other coworkers and interns as Eduardo's friend. Mark wonders if it would be better if Eduardo introduced them as business partners so his being there actually makes _sense_ , but no one questions it.

Afterward, Mark meets Eduardo's father outside, who is stiff but passive enough, mostly asking his son about his productivity at his internship. "It's going well, Pai," Eduardo says, and Mark sees that Eduardo meets his father's eyes.

His father purses his lips. His gaze flickers to Mark, and he says, "The workplace isn't an area for socializing."

"I know," Eduardo says calmly. "Mark is just up here to visit me, like I told you."

His father still looks disapproving, and Mark wonders if it would help if he said something. Then he rethinks this consideration and doesn't.

"We're meeting your mother at the restaurant," his father says, after a moment, not quite looking at Mark still.

They get into the town car. Eduardo is silent, and Mark feels awkward; but Eduardo sends him a reassuring smile that his father can't see from the front seat. Mark tries to smile back and wants to hold Eduardo's hand, except knows that he can't.

At the restaurant, Eduardo's mother is much more tolerable, greeting Mark with a broad smile on her face and insisting on hugging him. "I have to meet all of Eduardo's friends," she says seriously. "Make sure they're not dangerous."

" _M_ _ã_ _e_ ," Eduardo says, while Mark says, "If I'm a danger, it's news to me."

Eduardo's mother squeezes Mark's shoulder before going over to kiss her husband on the cheek. "Sit down," she instructs to Mark, since Eduardo already has. "We'll order the food, don't worry."

And just when Mark thinks he'll be talking to mostly Eduardo and his mother all night, Eduardo's father turns his gaze onto him and says, "Eduardo tells me you are building a website. That will be excellent business in your generation."

He says it like it's a fact, not a compliment. Mark glances at Eduardo, who's giving him an encouraging look. "I suppose," Mark says. "I'm not doing it for the business, though."

Eduardo's father narrows his eyes. "Who's handling the money in your company?"

"It's not a company yet," Mark says. "I'm not too concerned—"

"We live in a capitalist society," Eduardo's father says. "Surely you must be aware of the nature of the market, and the growth of the internet currently—"

"What Mark means is," Eduardo says, stepping in, "is that he's only just finished the website portion of facebook, he's still working through the logistics of the business end. Right?" He looks at Mark, but his eyes are telling him to _say yes_.

Normally Mark would ignore Eduardo's warning and say whatever the fuck he wanted, except that could make this dinner end badly and Mark at the least wants to get laid tonight. "Right," he grits out through his teeth, and feels Eduardo quickly squeeze his fingers before pulling away.

Eduardo's mother, who's watching, says, "I'm sure Eduardo's friend is very intelligent, especially if he's friends with Eduardo." She smiles at Mark in a way that makes Mark kind of frightened for his life, and asks him how he feels about spicy food.

They don't talk about facebook again, and Mark is glad to remain silent as Eduardo's parents move on to talk about Eduardo's internship and what he's going to do next semester. Neither of them asks about the nature of his and Mark's relationship, though Mark supposes that they don't really behave in a way that would warrant it.

His parents say goodbye before taking a taxi back to their hotel. Mark and Eduardo head for the subway station again, though this time Eduardo bumps their knuckles together as they climb the stairs, and sits closer to him on the train. "Thank you," Eduardo says quietly, and Mark presses closer to him in response.

The friction of barely touching Eduardo and being around him all day hits Mark as soon as they're back in the apartment. It must have the same effect on Eduardo, because he crowds Mark against the door once it's closed, kissing him hungrily and like his life is depending upon it. Mark responds in kind, eager and distracted hands reaching around to untuck his shirt, and there is shameless rutting against the door until Eduardo says harshly, "I don't want to come against a door for the third time in my life, Mark."

"You came against a bookshelf," Mark points out, but lets Eduardo lead him away. "And you didn't complain either time."

"I'm complaining now," Eduardo says, not complaining. He dumps himself and Mark on the bed, kissing fast at first, and then slowly, too exhausted and full from dinner to have particularly athletic sex and instead stripping bare and fondling each other under the streaming light of the room until they come, nearly simultaneous.

Mark pulls away to lie on his back. Eduardo has a full bed here, roomier but more comfortable than their beds at Eliot or Kirkland. "Your parents," he says, to the ceiling.

Eduardo sighs. "Yeah, I know," he says.

"You don't want them to know we're dating."

Eduardo shrugs beside him, shifting the pillows. "Yeah," he says again.

Mark isn't surprised; he's faced his share of homophobic (and biphobic) people in his life, and while he's generally not afraid to argue his point on nearly every subject, he also doesn't wish for an early death sentence. He's seen and heard before how Eduardo's parents are, some overlying pressure of approval and pleasure; if Eduardo's being in a relationship with him will hinder that in some way, Mark can understand the need for silence.

And Eduardo sighs, and says, "I'm not sure if this internship is right for me, anyway."

Mark swallows down some shallow remark about how the internship makes him look hot. He turns his head to the side and says, "Yeah?"

"I don't know," Eduardo says, to his ceiling. "I like it—I'm learning a lot. But every time my parents ask how I'm doing, or come to visit—" He glances at Mark. "I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. Like I'm doing it all wrong, especially when they're here."

Mark watches him carefully.

"You know I'm a psych major, right?" he says.

Eduardo blinks in surprise. "I—What—No, I didn't know that," he says. "Computer science isn't a—?"

"It's a concentration, and I like psych anyway," Mark says.

Eduardo's mouth curves, but in an amused way. "What, are you going to psychoanalyze me?"

Mark could say that Eduardo's feelings are probably purely subconscious if he grew up with the feeling his whole life, but figures one meeting doesn't really make it his place to say. "No," he says, instead. "I mean, I had a boring backup plan for something that I could probably be happy with, but I headed toward something better, anyway."

"Revolutionizing the internet."

"Changing the world," Mark corrects, and Eduardo laughs into his shoulder.

"I'm not sure if that was supposed to be more modest than what I said, or less."

"Shut up." Mark hits him with the back of his hand at Eduardo's stomach. Eduardo just giggles again.

"I mean," Mark says. "I don't  _know_  how popular thefacebook is going to be. I mean, I know it's going to be popular," he says, at the doubtful look that passes over Eduardo's face. "But it's still the fucking future, so who knows? Maybe it'll flop so badly that I'll just move onto the next project, and make something better. Maybe I'll do something with a dumb psych degree."

Eduardo studies him for a moment. "You're trying to make me feel better," he realizes.

"Yes," Mark says. "Keep up."

This time it's Eduardo's turn to hit Mark in the stomach, though he more just runs his knuckles across Mark's ribs, lingering there. "I do care about my parents' opinion," he says softly.

"I know you do," says Mark. "But they didn't tell you to not date me, and you still went for it, didn't you?"

The smile that Eduardo gives him is blinding.

Mark isn't really sure if that conversation solves anything, though by the way Eduardo noses at his cheek and neck and just kisses him for like, a half an hour straight afterward, might be some sort of weird Eduardo version of appreciation. Also the, "Thank you," that Eduardo utters against his skin. After being kissed and lightly touched for what feels like a near hour, Mark gets horny again, and they go at it again, this time Mark riding down on him while Eduardo lies horizontal underneath him, panting and assisting with his hands on Mark's hips.

Mark leaves after the weekend, resuming his schedule of doing nothing and dicking around with half-bugged programs, twiddling with Synapse again and starting a new project, all the while keeping up with his fencing lessons and Dustin asking every once in a while if they have a coffeemaker to bring to their dorm next year. On top of that, since getting back from his second visit to Eduardo, he and Eduardo have been talking nearly every day— _nearly_  only because Mark can't make promises on accuracy, though it certainly feels like it. Eduardo ponders in his ear about weather predictions as he codes, and Mark makes him make a bet with him on how many people he think will sign up on the first day (Mark thinks over five hundred; Eduardo is pretty certain on his estimation of under.)

And they have phone sex more than once, even though it's a bit weird with Eduardo's disembodied voice panting and them  _talking_  about what they're doing. Mark doesn't really know what to do so he just says things like, "I'm stroking my dick. I'm still stroking my dick," and Eduardo laughs through the speaker before he says, " _Details_ , Mark, I'm not sure if that's enough."

Mark fantasizes about Eduardo being here, squeezing gently around the tip, running his fingers over his balls. "I'm imagining that my hand is you," he says to Eduardo, and the low groan he gets in response makes it evident that this is something Eduardo can work with.

July segues into August, Mark no less lazy than before. He gets another invite to a party in the middle of the first week of the month, but figures that it's going to be all college kids, as it makes sense. He tells Eduardo about the party through text, who sends him a condescending,  _I'm proud._

Mark rolls his eyes.

The party is filled with either people he hated for reasons he can't remember or mostly apathetic toward, but Mark gets pleasantly tipsy and argues with pretty much everyone who tries to interact with him (a handful whom he recognize, and then some.) He sobers up with three painful glasses of water, but also steals two beer bottles and is careful on his drive back home.

He finishes the first bottle several minutes after he gets home. Being drunk in his house at night twinges the familiar feeling of spring break. Before he knows it, Mark's taken out his phone and dialing Eduardo's number.

"Wardo," he says shortly.

"Mark." Eduardo sounds pleasantly surprised. "You're drunk?"

"I—Do I sound it?"

"You sound more aggressive when you are." Eduardo laughs. "What is this?"

"I just, uh." Mark feels stupid all of a sudden. "I felt compelled to send you a drunk I miss you message that I will definitely remember in the morning."

"That's sweet," Eduardo says, maybe trying to come out teasing but mostly sounding warm. "I'm not drunk, but I miss you too."

"I know," Mark says. "That you're not drunk." He thinks for a moment. "But that you miss me too."

Eduardo laughs, again. "Drink a lot of water," he says.

"I did already to drive home," Mark says. "I only have two bottles with me now. I fucking hate being lightweight. Do you want to meet up before break ends?"

"I... probably can't." Eduardo sounds regretful. Mark can hear the frown in his voice. "I need to finish up here, and then I'm going to Miami for a week—"

"That's fine," Mark says, because if Eduardo keeps talking it's going to sound like excuses. He knows they're not, but Mark knows that he makes intuitive leaps out of nowhere when he's drunk that he berates himself for being stupid for later.

"I wish you could," Eduardo says wistfully.

"I wish I could, too," Mark says. "But that means we can have more phone sex."

And he really doesn't mean for that to be a suggestion that night, but later—and they've gotten better at this, admittedly—he's telling Eduardo how much he wants him to ride his cock, and hears Eduardo come over the phone gasping,  _please, please, please_ , and Mark can nearly feel him  _there_ , biting bruises onto Mark's neck, so it's not really bad at all.

***

There's only a handful of days left over break, and Mark semi-regrets not visiting Eduardo more. But he knows it wouldn't have been incredibly productive because Eduardo would probably call him distracting and Mark earnestly wants Eduardo to do as well in his internship as he much as he wants thefacebook to take off upon launch. It's just—the physicality of sharing the same space, occupying the same room in the same moment—a weird feeling that Mark can easily categorize as _want_ , even though it feels so close to need, like needing to eat or needing to sleep. So since there aren't any days left to count down to the next time he goes into the city, he just counts down the days until he goes back to Harvard—only a couple of days before thefacebook is supposed to launch.

Before he knows it, Dustin and Chris are probing him with more emails about what they should bring for their dorm (Mark is the only one of them who has a mini-fridge, so they're making him share), discussing decorations and appliances and other things Mark mostly doesn't care about, as long as he has a steady stream of sugar, caffeine, and access to his computer. They're getting back a couple of days before Mark, while Eduardo's getting there a week early.

It only gets hotter and drier the closer it comes to the end of August. But the day that Mark gets back is windier and kinder to his pale skin as he steps out from the train onto the platform. He gets to Kirkland fine, texting Eduardo on the way, and gets nearly tackled when he wrenches the door open.

"Mark!" Dustin pulls away, his red hair somehow having gotten redder over the summer. Chris is watching them, amused, over Dustin's shoulder, sorting through some things.

Dustin beams. "Did you gain weight? Oh man, I'm living with my two favorite coworkers now."

"We aren't coworkers, technically," Chris points out, as Mark grunts in response, wheeling his bag in. "Also, Mark, your stuff is in the room we decided was yours. Hope you don't mind it." Mark walks toward where Chris had gestured, and Chris follows him. "And if you do, you'll have to live with it."

The room in question is in the far corner of the suite, all of Mark's boxes piled on top of each other, with a desk, bed, dresser, and wardrobe. "It's fine," Mark says, setting his things down.

"Great," says Chris. "Now come out here and help us, we're trying to figure out how the couch legs stretch out."

They mess around with the couch; Dustin and Chris give up soon enough, but Mark is still determined to not let a piece of furniture overpower him. They've already bought drinks and toss a beer to Mark, talking easily about the summer while Mark fiddles with the functions of the couch. He could probably pull it apart, but Dustin and Chris wouldn't like that. Probably.

Chris has some tolerable pop music playing from somewhere, getting interrupted when they hear a rapping at the door. Dustin calls, "Coming!" as Mark fixes the lever under the couch.

"Hey Dustin," says Eduardo's voice, from the door.

The footrest to the couch springs up.

"You did it Mark!" Dustin crows. He runs to hug Mark once, and before Mark can shake him off, jumps away and spreads himself across the couch.

Chris joins him. "Luxury," he says, and they clink beer bottles.

Mark rolls his eyes. "Hey, Wardo," he says, going toward the doorway.

Eduardo smiles as Mark lets him in. "Hi Mark. Chris," he also addresses, where Chris lifts his beer up to him in greeting. "Have you started unpacking?" Eduardo says to Mark.

"Not yet. I was helping these idiots with the couch," Mark says, gesturing.

"These idiots are grateful," says Chris.

Eduardo laughs and leans into Mark's cheek, not really kissing but not really not kissing either. "How generous of you," he says. "Let's go, I'll help."

Mark shows him his room, though with Eduardo's apartment in consideration, he doubts he'll be using his own bed excessively. He comments on this to Eduardo, who blushes but says, "Don't be ridiculous, I'll come over sometimes, too. Plus you'll need to manage thefacebook," he adds, as Mark sets his desktop up on the table.

Mark pauses, considering. "Maybe I should get a second desktop to keep at your place," he says.

Eduardo laughs and kicks his foot against his own. "Hey, where do you want me to put these shirts?" he asks, prowling through a box he'd tugged open.

And it's then—with seeing Eduardo hovering over some old t-shirts from Exeter, peering at them and pulling them out to take a good look, and everything just—hits Mark, in that instant. Being in his room and four feet apart and setting up Mark's stuff, and seeing Eduardo under the tinny yellowy light peeking out from outside, making stupid faces at Mark's clothes. Everything else falls out from Mark's mind, except for one, ringing word. He's in love.

It's the same exact feeling he had toward the end of break, and he's never really been in love before. Or maybe he has, because coding and thinking about success and fencing sometimes replaces the aching need for other bodily functions, like eating and sleeping. Mark has loved people before (his family) and doesn't really care for over- or underusing the word. But being with Eduardo is so blinding that it should've been obvious, and Mark has heard, repeatedly, from different people at different points in his life, that you can fall in love more than once. You can fall in love again and again.

But it's hard imagining that when his chest his thumping just looking at Eduardo, frowning at a t-shirt with a bad programming joke on it and mouthing to what the print says. All that's running through Mark's mind is,  _I love him. I'm in love with him_ , and he nearly forgets that Eduardo had asked him a question.

"You can—" His voice comes out croaky. He thinks for a second Eduardo might notice, but Eduardo doesn't look up when he speaks. "You can put them in the dresser," he tells Eduardo.

"Awesome." Eduardo begins folding Mark's clothes and pulling open drawers. Mark doesn't know what it is about  _now_ , about Eduardo just unpacking Mark's things, that make him stare too long.

 _I'm in love with Eduardo Saverin_ , he thinks, again.

Later, when they're mostly done and Mark has brought his mini-fridge out in the living room for the rest of them to use, Eduardo nudges Mark's hip with his own as Mark inspects his room for anything else he's missing and trying not to think too much about l-words.

"Hey," Eduardo says. "You good?"

"Yeah, I." Mark shrugs. "It's good to be back."

Eduardo beams at him. "It is," he says, and Mark has to turn his head to see his face.

Eduardo leans in first but Mark closes the distance quicker, eager to get Eduardo's mouth on his. They kiss standing to the side, only shortly thereafter moving into each other, Mark's hands at Eduardo's hips and ass as Eduardo runs his hands along Mark's arms. It's been so long—it actually hasn't been that long—but it feels it, and Mark groans the harder Eduardo kisses, squeezing Eduardo's ass. He thinks,  _I love you I love you_ and it's loud and hard with the way they can sink into each other, close and steady, not last year anymore, not the summer anymore, but still here.

"Hey, did you—whoa," says Dustin's voice, both too far away and too close.

Both Mark and Eduardo break apart then, jumping and embarrassed.

Dustin is grinning, though shielding his eyes with one hand. "Chris and I were wondering if you guys wanted to watch a movie, but I guess you were busy already," he says. "Or getting busy."

"Shut up, Dustin," says Mark, throwing a stray sock at him. "You can stop that, we're not making out anymore."

"Is this a trick to scar my eyes?" Dustin asks.

Mark and Eduardo exchange a look; Mark rolls his eyes, while Eduardo says, "No, Dustin."

"Okay, good," Dustin says, and pulls his hand down the same time Mark and Eduardo lean into each other.

Dustin yelps and brings his hand back up. "What the hell! I thought you guys said that my eyes would remain pure."

Mark snorts into Eduardo's cheek, as Eduardo giggles into him, nose pressing against Mark's face. "I doubt your eyes have been pure at any time in your life," he says, against Eduardo's skin.

Dustin pouts as they pull away again. "You guys aren't fair. I retract the invite to a movie."

"Too late," Eduardo says lightly, starting to leave Mark's room. "What are we watching?"

"Jaws!" Chris calls from the living room.

Mark has a pretty neutral stance on gory movies; Eduardo does, too, as far as Mark can remember and according to what Eduardo exhibits tonight, anyway. Chris alters between fascination and disgust (and fascinated by his own disgusted, apparently) while Dustin enjoys the movie entirely too much. Like, in a disturbing way.

"I can't believe these are the people I chose to surround myself with," Mark says, at the end of the movie, hovering over his laptop and watching Chris listen with rapt attention to Dustin and Eduardo's discussion about the verisimilitude of  _Jaws_.

"And live with," says Dustin, toeing at Mark's knee.

Chris and Dustin depart to their rooms soon enough, but Mark is finishing up a dumb project he started in August so he stays on the living room couch. Eduardo asks about it and they talk, and then Eduardo is pressing kisses to the inseam of Mark's wrist, and then Mark gets distracted and puts his laptop aside and they are making out on the living room couch.

Where they are only registers a while later after wandering hands and booty grabs. Mark doesn't care, but Eduardo breathes, "I don't think Dustin and Chris will appreciate us dirtying the couch on our first day here."

Mark nods in agreement. "My bedsheets need some using," he says, and they both giggle and head to Mark's bedroom.

Eduardo stays the night, though the next morning he says, "I should go back to my apartment." He's fiddling with his keys as Mark lies half-asleep on the bed.

Mark yawns and tries to get up. "I should come with you," he mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes.

Eduardo perks up at this. "Really?"

"Of course." Mark flops back down on his pillow, too tired to be awake properly. "I should see the bed that I'm going to be spending most of my time in, anyway."

Eduardo laughs, and after sleepy morning kisses and an hour of persuading Mark's body to fully wake up, they head out and get ready to leave.

Chris finds them in the common room, where Mark is looking over the mantelpiece while Eduardo whines about there not being any real food in the mini-fridge, he can't have beer and twizzlers for breakfast.

"Hey guys," Chris says. "Not that I want to discourage your gay conquests and all, but can you keep it down next time? Last night it was kind of hard to sleep."

"Last night was terrible!" Dustin calls from behind his closed door. "My ears are forever tainted!"

"Your ears were always tainted," Mark retorts, as Eduardo blushes and apologizes to Chris. He makes Mark apologize, too, but Mark also says, "Wardo's got an apartment anyway, we'll just spend most of our sex time, there."

"Mark!" Eduardo says, scandalized.

Chris nods, looking stunned and hesitant. "Al... right," he says. "Thanks."

Mark smirks, pleased with himself. Eduardo asks him, once they're heading out of the building and walking down the street, if he discusses his sex life with all of his friends.

Mark shrugs, thinking. "I don't think Erica would care," he says. "She'd call me gross and then talk about whoever she thinks is attractive a week later, just to spite me. Plus I'm basically reassuring Chris and Dustin, that they won't have to listen to us again."

"After what we pulled with Dustin yesterday, I'm not sure if they'll believe us," Eduardo says, amused.

They get to Eduardo's apartment, which is sizeable, complete with a matching furniture set for the living room, bedroom, and smaller room that Eduardo's turned into some sort of office. Mark comments on it and Eduardo scratches the back of his head, smiling; apparently the apartment had been a gift from his parents for doing so well at his summer internship. Mark bites down an 'I told you so.'

It's too early in the day for them to show Eduardo's new furniture the treatment they had to his New York apartment, so Mark goes through Eduardo's weird books on math and the weather on his office shelf as Eduardo sits at his desk, mailing professors about his thesis and other stuff Mark pretends to care about. Mark wonders idly about thefacebook having some sort of weather feature that Eduardo can run, but decides that it's pointless and would take up unnecessary space, anyway.

Around lunch time Eduardo suggests that Mark invite Dustin and Chris out, so Mark does; over food he gets demands from Erica to meet up tomorrow before the semester starts and exchange schedules, too, so he agrees to that, too.

While he's typing out his reply, Eduardo and Dustin and Chris are discussing what class they're looking forward to for this semester. "Anything interesting on your schedule, Mark?" Dustin asks.

Mark shrugs, without looking up. "Not really, but thefacebook's going live once classes start."

"What!" Dustin squawks, the same time Chris goes, "Congratulations, man."

"There's nothing to congratulate," says Mark, though he smiles anyway. "I finished it back in June, it's been ready for months."

"Still," Chris says. "You gotta admit that it's an achievement."

After a pause, Mark says, "Yeah."

"Mark's so proud of his baby," Eduardo teases, tapping lightly against his foot.

Mark rolls his eyes, wishing the analogy wasn't as accurate as it is. "It's not my  _baby_ ," he says, kicking back.

The conversation veers off in discussing work schedules and Mark and Dustin complaining about circ and weird patients they've had at the desk. After, they go back to Kirkland and dick around, Mark itching to go to his computer even though there's nothing for him to work on until he sends the site out. He doesn't even let any of them make a profile yet; it all has to be simultaneous, record-breaking. He already has a message for the listserv of the library's staff in his email drafts.

So over the weekend, as campus quickly fills up with potential thefacebook users again, the anticipation builds inside Mark, along with the slow steady thrum that comes with whenever he looks at Eduardo laughing for too long and forgets about everything else. It occurs to him that maybe he should tell Eduardo, but it might be too soon, or too much of a big deal to Eduardo, even though it's not really one with Mark. Plus, there's thefacebook coming up, so it's hardly priority.

On the day of launch, Mark has a morning shift at the library. "Check your emails at noon," he tells basically all of his coworkers after they ask him how his summer has been.

Carlton asks, "You're not going to send every computer in this building a virus, are you?"

Mark snorts. "No, I'm inviting everyone to the website I was working on all last year," he says. "And the summer," he adds in afterthought.

Carlton's expression relaxes. "Oh, okay."

Mark's shift ends at eleven, and he can meet with both Eduardo and Erica for lunch on Mondays. Erica has taken mostly afternoon classes this semester, so she's already in the reading room when Mark gets off.

"Hey," Erica whispers; the reading room is always terrifyingly quiet during the day, because there's more people and seeing a crowd in utter silence is just weird. "How was work?"

"I'm pretty sure they all think I'm going to give them a trojan, but it was okay." Mark doesn't bother whispering. He pulls a chair out and sits down. "Is Wardo here yet?" Erica shakes her head.

But Eduardo comes soon enough anyway, pink-cheeked and a little out of breath. "Hey," he says to them. He looks over Mark's shoulder to his laptop. "Is that it?"

Someone a few tables over goes, " _Shh!_ "

"Fuck off," Mark calls over to them. "Yeah, it is."

A different someone enunciates the same message.

"I work here," Mark says to them.

Eduardo says, still looking at Mark's computer screen, "That looks good, it looks really good." He says it in an undertone.

"Yeah," Mark says dismissively. "I know. What's the mailing list for the Phoenix?"

"The—what?" Eduardo's pulled out a chair, sitting in between him and Erica, who only looks amused at Mark shouting at strangers. "The Phoenix?"

"You're still in, right?" At Eduardo's nod, Mark says, "I need their email addresses. They know people, I don't want thefacebook to just bounce around the library staff."

"I." Eduardo settles back, looking conflicted. "I'm not sure that it's going to be cool with them that we spam their—"

Mark interrupts, "This is not spam."

"I know it's not spam—"

"They love you," Mark says. "They'll click on anything you email them, probably. C'mon, Wardo."

Eduardo bites his lip, but he relents anyway. Mark blind copies both listservs in the email, then barely hovers over the send button when Erica whispers, "Go," under her breath.

The email takes off.

Mark watches as the window disappears from his computer, going back to his inbox. It's out there, now, other people are going to see it. His chest does a funny little thing in his throat.

"The site's live," he whispers, this time.

Erica squeaks and grips Mark's arm, even though neither of them are really big on hugging. Mark is frozen, staring at his computer screen, imagining all the traffic and the signups and the... everything.

"You know," says Eduardo, from somewhere behind them. "Let's go get a drink and celebrate. I'm buying."

Mark closes his eyes, swaying forward. All the work for the past several months... the long hours picking up extra shifts for this... It's finally going to pay off, done and never done, and Mark's fingers twitch with the excitement of building it higher, higher than from the ground up.

"Mark." Erica shakes his arm. "Eduardo just asked if we wanted to get drinks."

Mark opens his eyes. "Yeah," he says, wetly at first. He clears his throat. "Yeah," he says again. "Okay."

Eduardo is beaming as Mark packs his things up, shoving them into his backpack. Mark sends a cursory glance over the reading room, because despite the too-quiet assholes, some of the members of the Phoenix (who aren't Eduardo) could be in here; some of them might've gotten invites from their friends already. They could be signing up for thefacebook at this very moment.

Eduardo wraps a hand around Mark's shoulder, getting his attention again. "Congratulations," he says, so earnestly that Mark's only response is to kiss him.

The three of them go out and sit around and drink, as Mark alternates between talking a mile a minute about thefacebook and then sitting in stony silence, looking around them and  _wondering_. Eduardo seems endeared by it all and joins in, saying that Mark should help him sign up later today. Erica is unperturbed both by Eduardo and Mark sitting so close to each other on the other side of the table and that she technically can't sign up for thefacebook yet. She says that she's basically a member already, in spirit, and Mark doesn't deny it.

She heads back to class after, tipsy and happy, waving goodbye. Mark and Eduardo return it, before heading in a vague direction that could be toward either one of their places.

As they walk, they hear a kid they pass by say, "Do you know what thefacebook is? I got, like, three emails for it already, and..."

Mark turns to Eduardo, grinning. Eduardo is grinning back.

"Wanna head back to mine?" he asks Mark.

Mark says yes.

They stumble in, gripping against each other and gasping. Mark laughs as Eduardo stumbles over his shoe rack, and Eduardo laughs too, and then they kiss each other, Eduardo tugging at Mark's hoodie strings while Mark slides his tongue hotly against Eduardo's, blood pumping with fucking adrenaline and thefacebook and excitement and love and  _everything_. Eduardo kisses back, eager, hand going to rest between Mark's shoulder blades, pressing him so close that Mark has to arch his back and Eduardo has to bend forward.

"Bed," Mark says into Eduardo's mouth, and Eduardo smirks and nods.

They resume kissing, taking their clothes off in a trail behind them along the way, not really looking and bumping into a wall once as they head towards Eduardo's bedroom and giggle. Mark gets Eduardo's underwear off and squeezes his dick, laughing a little when Eduardo gasps into his mouth. "Shit,  _Mark_ ," Eduardo groans, when Mark grinds his hips forward against his, smirking.

He pushes Mark back so they fall on the bed together, and Mark is still laughing a little until Eduardo sinks down to his knees and licks a stripe up Mark's dick. It's Mark's turn to gasp as Eduardo nuzzles his cockhead, says, "I'm so proud of you."

"Stop talking to my dick," Mark whines, yanking him up. "I wanna ride you."

"Yeah, okay," Eduardo says.

The prepping is a bit messy, mostly because Mark is hovering over Eduardo's stomach and reaching around him as Eduardo watches, tickling his armpits that Mark almost loses focus. Mark gets him back by mussing up Eduardo's hair with one hand, causing Eduardo to yelp and pull his hand away. He licks Mark's palm, which feels sexy, though Mark says, "Gross, I just touched your hair gel." Eduardo makes a face and says, "Yeah, that was a bad idea," and then they're laughing again.

Once Mark has opened himself up, he sinks himself down on Eduardo's dick, disappointed when Eduardo just watches him with a big smile on his face and hands on Mark's hips. Mark rolls his eyes and clenches around Eduardo's cock; Eduardo's expression shutters into shock and he groans.

"Much better," Mark says.

Eduardo laughs, pulling Mark forward so that he's hovering over his chest. "You're an asshole," he says fondly, and begins moving his hips up, jerking Mark into fucking himself back down.

"You wish," Mark breathes, and Eduardo laughs against his mouth, maybe intending to kiss him. It's hard when both of their mouths are stretched into mile-wide grins, so Mark just grinds down on him, foreheads pressed together and beaming together, feeling his orgasm bubble like laughter in his throat, coming breathless and half-laughing against each other. Eduardo keeps rocking into him when he's done and Mark assists, complaining about his stamina. Eduardo snorts, and then leans forward against Mark's shoulder, pressing back a giggle as he comes.

Mark watches as Eduardo eventually comes down, slipping out of Mark and tying the condom off. Mark's gaze follows as he tosses it into the trashcan in the bedroom. He rubs his hands along the upper sculpt of Eduardo's chest.

"I hope you didn't forget our bet," he says to Eduardo.

Eduardo blinks up at him; Mark is still sitting on his stomach. "What bet?"

"You know, if more than five hundred people join today." Mark's mouth quirks. "How much money would you owe me again?"

Understanding dawns on Eduardo's face. "I think we said one hundred?"

"Really," Mark says. "I'm pretty sure we said two."

Eduardo laughs and rolls him over, kissing the nonsense out of him.

***

They do get more than five hundred signups on the first day. It's insane—it's  _ridiculous_ —but they get nearly seven hundred people by midnight, Mark staring at the website stats and not sure if it's real. Eduardo is standing by him, watching as the numbers go up at least once every half an hour. It really doesn't feel real, that at least seven hundred computers on campus today have had thefacebook up on them already.

Dustin and Chris are hanging out in Mark's room too, mostly because Dustin yells every time he finds someone he knows on the network, and none of them had stopped bothering Chris until he got an account, too. Mark had helped Eduardo set his up, even though—"You know how to work a computer, Wardo."

"New websites confuse me," Eduardo confesses, laptop perched in his thigh.

"What's there to confuse you? There are likes, text fields, buttons—"

"I'm not a master of tech, okay." Eduardo nudges him. "Now help me with this thing."

Mark feels both underwhelmed and overwhelmed that thefacebook has  _something_ , has an audience after so much time spent working on it and the agonizing wait of the summer. It's not the reception that gets to him, but the existence dichotomized with the time when he and Eduardo and Erica and a handful of other people who heard about 'thefacebook' and knew what it actually was.

Eduardo heads back to his apartment later that night with promises to drop by again tomorrow afternoon. Between that, time will probably pass faster and slower, for so many of the smallest and biggest reasons. So Mark goes into work the next day anticipating, heading to the back and putting his stuff away.

As he is, Carlton appears, along with some other student who's working circ this shift along with Mark. When he sees Mark, he says, "Good job with your website, Mark. I signed up—it's a pretty handy thing."

Mark nods, trying not to look too pleased. "Thanks," he says.

The kid with Carlton does a double take between the two of them. "Wait, what—Are you guys talking about thefacebook? Did you make thefacebook?" he asks Mark.

Mark says, dry, "It says 'a Mark Zuckerberg production' on it, and my name is Mark Zuckerberg, so I assume so."

Carlton doesn't even admonish him; unless Mark is mistaken, he actually looks a little pleased.

The kid says, "Sorry, sorry—I'm Bob, I just signed up for it last night! It's really cool, man, I told all my friends about it."

"Naturally," says Mark.

Carlton rolls his eyes and leads Bob into the back.

That's not the end of it, even though the site hasn't even been live for twenty-four hours. When he meets up for breakfast with Erica in the cafe later, they're stopped by a couple of girls with pencils in their hair and looking more interested in Mark than any other girl has looked before.

"Hi," one of them says. "We're reporters for the Crimson, Mark, we heard about thefacebook. We were thinking of scheduling an interview with you at the end of the week, if you wanted."

Mark tilts his head. He's terrible at speaking, but—"Sure."

The girls light up. "Great!" the other one says, and tells Mark that she'll email him to make arrangements.

Erica looks kind of wide-eyed once they leave. "Wow," she says. "That was quick. I didn't know you do interviews, Mark."

Mark shrugs. "I don't, really," he says, picking at his egg salad (they didn't offer tuna salad today.) "But more publicity means more users. Plus, I did an interview with the Crimson before about Synapse after Coursematch launched."

"I nearly forgot about that." Erica forks at her own salad. "This is bigger than that, though, isn't it?"

"Way bigger," Mark says.

He keeps an eye on the servers any time he can, propping his laptop open during classes and half-paying attention, half-watching the numbers go up and the traffic remaining steady, but the site staying up. When he gets home he resumes this practice with his desktop computer, fixing all the bugs that crop up and watching the site grow, expand, become what it was built to be.

Eduardo comes in, greeting Dustin and Chris along the way, coming in through Mark's open doorway. "Hey," he says, bracing himself against the doorway. "Eat dinner yet?"

Mark shakes his head, staring at the black window on his computer screen and sucking on a piece of hard candy. "No, late class," he says without looking up.

"Well good, because I was thinking we could go on a date tonight." Eduardo leans against the side of Mark's desk.

Mark looks at him. "But I have to keep an eye on thefacebook," he says, wincing that he sounds a little petulant. "In case it crashes—"

"Chris and Dustin can keep an eye on it, yeah?" Eduardo says. "C'mon, Mark, we haven't been out in a while." He nudges Mark's foot with his own.

"We went out yesterday," Mark points out.

"Just you and me, I mean. A date," Eduardo says again. "It won't be too long, thefacebook can survive." He smiles convincingly.

Mark sighs, turning to his computer screen again. "Dustin!" he calls.

Dustin rushes in, looking between the both of them. "Yeah?"

"Wardo and I are going out," Mark says. "Keep an eye on thefacebook for me."

"Uh," says Dustin, staring blankly at Mark's computer screen. "I don't know the first thing about this, man, uh—"

"Well if thefacebook crashes on your computer, text me," Mark cuts in. "Or if the screen goes completely black. Or just stay on thefacebook the whole time, okay, and if there's any glitches—"

"Dustin's addicted to thefacebook as it is, he'll be fine," says Eduardo, smiling.

Dustin lights up. "Yeah, man! Remember the girl from your art history class? I found her, and—"

"That's great," Mark says. He stands up. After giving his computer screen one last worried glance, he says, "If anything goes wrong, don't try to fix it, don't say it's not a big deal, just call me—"

"Whatever you say, boss," Dustin says brightly.

So with that in the questionably reliable hands of Dustin, Mark and Eduardo go out, ordering their food and Mark glancing at his phone worriedly every few seconds. After probably the fiftieth time of Mark looking at it, waiting for it to light up with a message that something went horribly wrong, Eduardo reaches for his hand.

"Seriously, Mark," he says. "It's going to be fine."

Mark scrunches his nose. "I  _know_ , I just—" He bites his lip and looks at his phone again.

Eduardo squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb over his wrist where the bone juts out. "You care," he says, affectionately.

"I care about a lot of things," Mark says, meeting his gaze again.

Eduardo squeezes his hand again.

But thefacebook lasts through their date, and that kind of gives Mark that sigh of relief that this high and hard work is not momentary, it is stable and long-lasting and  _good_. He answers the emails from the Crimson, deciding to meet for an interview at some dessert place at the end of the week.

The reporter is neither of the girls whom Mark had encountered earlier, kind of stupid and asks Mark why he made thefacebook in the first place. Mark snorts.

"Everyone's been talking about a universal face book within Harvard," he says; it had been a passing topic in at least one of his CS classes before, back when it didn't feel like his idea and just a subject of discussion. "I think it's kind of silly that it would take the university a couple of years to get around to it. I can do it better than they can, and I can do it in a week."

The reporter shifts in his spot, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, but you did it in like, ten months."

Mark shrugs. "So? That's because I'm a student with a shitty minimum wage job and don't come from stupidly rich families like everyone else here. Plus," he adds thoughtfully. "I'm one guy, not an entire school."

He, of course, gets quoted fully on this, released in the column that comes out on Sunday. Erica is over, along with Eduardo, reading the article over her shoulder. Dustin has his own copy, in a fit of giggles on the couch.

"Oh man, Mark," he says, looking at the article again and bursting into snickers. "You said that you worked at  _Widener_ , your shitty minimum wage job." He snickers again. "Carlton's gonna be pissed. Or he's going to raise your salary." He ponders the idea.

"'Stupidly rich families,'" Eduardo reads, from Erica's shoulder.

"This is embarrassing," says Erica, setting the newspaper down. Eduardo grabs for it to read it, probably again. "Mark, why did you even say that?"

Mark shrugs, clicking around on thefacebook. It's as stable as ever, and his worries for it are slowly dissipating. "It's true," he says pointedly. "Besides, people might check it out if they don't like my personality."

"They're not going to want to look at your website if you're an asshole."

"Actually," Chris chimes in. He's drinking coffee, and has folded his own copy of the Crimson into a neat square, a coaster on their table. "They might, they'll want to see what he's boasting about. That's actually pretty smart." He nods at Mark.

Mark grunts. "Thanks," he mumbles. "Though that actually wasn't my intention."

"Stupidly rich," Eduardo says, again. "Mark, you know that I'm included in that demographic of students who come from rich families, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Mark throws a stray jolly rancher at him. "Doesn't mean it's not true."

"You're pretty well off," Erica points out. "Not a lot of students can get jobs otherwise. You wouldn't have been able to make thefacebook at all without that opportunity."

Mark has to relent to that.

***

Thefacebook continues to be a hit throughout campus, spreading at an alarmingly fast rate, and being talked about way more frequently and louder than CourseMatch ever had. Mark keeps quiet though he can't stop the smirk from his face when he hears people talk about it over the next few days.

One day at work, when he has a desk shift, he has emacs up, keeping an eye on thefacebook while actually tending to patrons. Since it's the middle of the day, there's a patron at least once every two minutes.

And it's only been ten minutes into his shift, but the person he's attending to does a double take, before asking eagerly, "Hey, wait, you're Mark Zuckerberg, aren't you?"

"Vainly," Mark says.

"Dude, this is so weird," says the guy, beaming at him. Mark keeps his face still. "I've been using thefacebook, like, six times a day."

Mark nods, slowly. "Cool."

"And now you're here in front of me," the guy says, awed. "At the library. Oh! Do you really get paid minimum wage here?"

"Five cents more," Mark says dryly.

The guy laughs way too loud. "Awesome," he says. "Well—thefacebook's awesome, man. I'm gonna go tell my girlfriend about this." He starts away, shaking his head and looking disbelieving.

Mark's mouth quirks as he watches him leave.

"Thefacebook?" says a voice at the computer next to him; Mark turns to see Christy, who he'd forgotten has this shift with him. "What's that?" she asks.

"My website," Mark says airily, clicking back to his internet browser.

Christy walks over and kicks at the side of Mark's chair, causing him to topple dangerously. "It's more than that, Zuckerberg, and you know it," she says. "Show it to me."

Mark shows it to her, and Christy is predictably impressed, and makes an account right there behind the desk. She doesn't spare Mark any compliments, though Mark doesn't really need any so he doesn't care. She dawdles on for the rest of the work shift not really paying any attention to Mark. Mark is content with watching over his own website for the rest of the time.

Eduardo texts him midway, saying that he can meet up with him afterward. When he arrives at the desk, Mark greets him with a half-hearted wave, still staring at the computer screen and waiting for the hour to end.

"Hi Christy," Eduardo says to Christy, making Mark roll his eyes.

"Oh, hi Eduardo," Christy says brightly. "I just made an account on thefacebook—you have one, right?"

"Yeah," says Eduardo, glancing quickly to Mark who is making an effort this time to not roll his eyes again. "I'm dating the CEO."

"Right, right." Christy brushes this information off. "Well you should facebook me anyway, it's a pretty cool site."

Eduardo's grin gets wider. He looks very pointedly to Mark again and says, "Yeah, it is."

Once Mark gets off work, they walk out together, into the warm September air. "Christy thinks thefacebook is cool," he says to Mark teasingly.

"Yeah," Mark grunts. "We're friends on it."

Eduardo snorts. "I thought you didn't like each other."

Mark shrugs.

"And she said  _facebook me_." Eduardo says it like he's more in awe of it than Mark, even though Mark can't deny that there's a really good ring to it. "That is so cool," Eduardo says to Mark.

Mark looks up at him, and smiles. "Yeah," he says. "It is."

He still spends hours doing bugfixes and making sure that everything is in steady management; he brings his laptop over to Eduardo's that afternoon, and after some fantastic as usual sex, he patches up some holes as Eduardo works on his thesis, both of them naked and on their laptops in Eduardo's bed. This is what their life is like, and even though Mark can easily use thefacebook as an excuse for not paying attention in class and doing his assignments, his schedule is a little freer with only modifying to do than the actual creation.

Being in love is still in his mind, but in a corner somewhere, one he can live with. He feels like it's obvious enough with the way that he doesn't mind Eduardo coming over, just to study on his bed while he makes sure the site's still running (though after a while that just gets boring and Mark joins him, distracting Eduardo while making sure the site doesn't run itself to the ground while Mark's trying to get it on.) He doesn't mind if Eduardo doesn't cotton on to his feelings though he thinks—hopes—that Eduardo feels the same way as Mark does. Eduardo crashes at his place a lot more often than either of them probably would have anticipated in the beginning of the year. Despite all that, he still has the Phoenix and Investor's Associations and AEPi meetings to go to, so his presence sometimes comes at odd hours.

Two weeks after the launch of thefacebook, Mark is walking back from his Saturday shift with Eduardo, talking about how they hit two thousand members already, when big blond and beefy things #1 and #2 appear in front of them. Mark recognizes them immediately.

"Mark Zuckerberg?" says one of the Winklevosses.

Mark says dryly to Eduardo, "A lot of people seem unsure of my name lately." Eduardo hides his smile in the crook of his elbow.

"Hi, sorry," says the Winklevoss. "I—We—My brother and I heard about thefacebook. We just wanted to say congratulations."

The other Winklevoss is watching Mark studiously, like Mark is a fly and he's not sure if he wants to squish him. Winklevoss the first nudges him.

"Congratulations," Winklevoss the second bites out.

"You sound congratulatory," Mark quips. "And thank you. I'm glad you took time out of your day to acknowledge my accomplishments."

"Mark," Eduardo says, from the corner of his mouth.

Mark glances at him. "What?"

Eduardo just smiles and holds Mark by his elbow. "That's Mark-speak for thank you, but he's trying not to be grateful about it."

"I'm not grateful," Mark snaps. "I—"

One of the Winklevosses—the first who'd spoken (though Mark is open to be wrong when it comes to guys who look like they row crew. Maybe they do)—looks between them. "Are you guys—friends?"

"More or less," Mark says, wrenching his elbow out of Eduardo's grip. "Are we done here?"

The other Winklevoss goes, "You little—"

"Almost," says the first, cutting his brother off. "We just wanted to say—uh—we know we came to you about our website earlier this year, but thefacebook must've been what you were working on, so you got there first." He smiles tryingly at Mark.

"Yeah, he got there before us," the other one mutters.

The first one—Mark decides that he likes him a little better—elbows the other. "You'll have to forgive my brother," he says. "We were in England for the Henley Royal Regatta in the spring, and got second place. He's still bitter about that."

" _Cam_ ," the other one protests.

Mark has no idea what he's talking about, so he says, "Congratulations." The other one lets out a strangled noise that Mark is happy with. "Well Wardo and I are going to go now, so—thanks. I guess," he adds, to the one who is presumably Cameron Winklevoss.

Cameron Winklevoss lifts a hand to him. "No problem."

As they head off, there is the distinct sound of Tyler Winklevoss going, "What was the point of  _that_?" and something, if Mark is hearing correctly, about being gentlemen of Harvard. Mark's mouth twitches as he and Eduardo continue on.

"They were nice," Eduardo says lightly.

"They're rich. It was a surprise."

Eduardo elbows him, and Mark scuffs him back.

"You didn't—" Eduardo says. "You didn't tell them we were dating."

"Did you want me to?" Mark asks. "It's not on your profile, and I'm not sure if we want to risk any sort of backlash so soon."

Eduardo nods. "That's true."

"Plus they could tell someone and have it get leaked to the Crimson," Mark points out. "And then your parents could read it before you tell them."

Eduardo stops then in the middle of the sidewalk, looking inexplicably—Mark doesn't know what, actually. His expression is hard to read.

"Wardo?" he says hesitantly.

Eduardo blinks. "Thank you, Mark," he says. His voice is weirdly dry. "For—thank you."

"Of course," Mark says, though he doesn't know what's going on.

Eduardo startles him by kissing him, long and public and in broad daylight. Mark grapples at Eduardo's shoulders, though he teases, when they let go, "Weren't we just discussing about how we didn't want a story accidentally getting leaked to the Crimson?"

"We're not celebrities yet, posting a photo without our consent would be illegal," Eduardo says lightly. He holds Mark's hand anyway. "C'mon."

***

Over the next week, Mark just gets hassled more and more about thefacebook, which is nice in knowing that it's spreading so widely and rapidly—everyone's sending him friend requests left and right, and he accepts them, even the ones whom he recognizes. It still makes Erica cough and nudge him if she's around, or Eduardo look terribly like he's holding himself back from saying anything, but Mark figures that the only thing that's important is getting more people to use the website, not to like him.

It becomes more of an issue when he's at work, though, manning the desk with people recognizing him upon first glance and then ranting for five minutes about how they're addicted to the website. Mark enjoys it, and it quickly becomes an inside joke with all his coworkers, who are equally addicted. They tease Mark about it, even sometimes when they're done checking out a book to a patron and going, "Do you know thefacebook? This is the guy who made it," and pointing at him.

Someone actually asks for Mark's autograph in the middle of the week, and Mark blinks at the notebook they've shoved in his face before scribbling his name and last initial in a weird scrawl. The student in question beams at him. His coworker is hiding her laughter terribly into her arm.

"He asked for my autograph," Mark tells Erica later, in the cafe. "I didn't know what to do. I just wrote my name."

Erica snickers, taking a sip of her smoothie. "You're like, the biggest thing on Harvard campus right now, aren't you," she says. "Even with that actress from the Star Wars movies here. She goes to Harvard, doesn't she?"

Mark shrugs, opening up his laptop. "My autograph," he repeats. "That was barely an autograph. That was my name."

"Maybe you need to practice," Erica teases.

Mark takes her words seriously, though after two attempts of trying to remember what he learned of cursive and failing, he decides that his half-legible print is good enough. Erica giggles at him the whole time.

People in class try to talk to him about it too, though his teachers shut them down before Mark has to suffer some twenty minute tirade about some function suggestion that he definitely wouldn't implement (the kid's trying to buy in with Mark, he figures.) But some of his instructors do compliment him on thefacebook too, while others complain that their students are trying to send them friend requests and it feels weird. Mark doesn't care; there's a section in the About explaining that rejections aren't visible. Plus, all of his teachers friended him.

He's suffering a diatribe from a particularly curious student-facebook user about the concept of Poking (which Mark  _also_  explained in the About) when Eduardo appears up the steps, looking amused when he sees Mark caught in the conversation. Mark feels himself smile involuntarily as soon as he sees Eduardo.

He cuts the kid off with, "Right, well, my—Wardo's here, so it's time for you to go."

"What's a mywardo?" the kid asks. "Is that a new app on thefacebook?"

Eduardo snorts, coming up to them. "I'm not sure if I want to be an app on Mark's website," he says, mostly to Mark.

"You would be popular," Mark tells him.

"I appreciate the flattery, but I'd rather be a person, thanks," Eduardo says, grinning.

The kid looks between them, but Mark gives the kid a hard glare. "Go on. I have another patron to attend to."

Once the kid's gone, Mark says to Eduardo, "I'm serious. You'd be a great app."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," Eduardo says. He leans against the counter. "Dinner later?"

Mark nods, happy. Eduardo ducks into the reading room, and Mark watches him go, that small flip and spread of warmth all too familiar in his chest.

They stay in at Eduardo's for dinner that day, Eduardo cooking some sort of Chinese food with Brazilian flare (that's how he describes it, anyway; it's tasty and smoking and some of it is too spicy, because Eduardo was trying to remember the recipe from the top of his head.) Afterward Mark keeps track of thefacebook while Eduardo studies or whatever, until they get distracted and end up making out on the couch. They are in Eduardo's apartment, though, so neither of them are too bothered by dirtying it up a little bit, panting hotly into each other's spaces with their pants half-twisted around each other. Mark shudders silently as he comes against Eduardo's chest; Eduardo is a bit louder, burying his head into Mark's neck.

Eduardo pants damply against him, until Mark says gruffly, "You're making my arm cramp." Eduardo shifts to a more comfortable position.

Their hands are wound together, clammy but not unpleasant. Mark stares at the tangle of their hands, more of a familiarity than anything else in the room.

"Someone made me sign their notebook the other day," he tells Eduardo. "Because I'm the founder of thefacebook."

Eduardo snorts. "I really am dating a celebrity," he teases. "Can I have your autograph too? Can you sign my chest?"

Mark bats him in said chest, though it's feeble considering their position. "Stop it. I just wanted to tell you."

"I know," Eduardo says, and lies against Mark again. The couch isn't very big; how they've managed this fit is beyond Mark. "I'm so happy for you."

Mark lets him lie there until his arm starts cramping again.

A few days later, when the week has started again, Mark gets off work with Dustin in tow, meeting Erica as usual. She's in the middle of something with her books, but when she looks up to see them, she puts it down. "Oh, Mark," she says. "I wanted to talk to you."

Mark is wary as he sits down. "Yeah?"

"Can I buy lunch?" Dustin asks the two of them.

Both Mark and Erica wave him off at the same time.

"About thefacebook," Erica says, when Dustin's gone. "Some of my classmates are asking me about it, since they saw me on the masthead. They wanted to know when BU was going to get it."

Mark shrugs, running her words over in his head. "Dunno. Probably in the week I guess," he says, thinking. "We'll have to rely on word of mouth."

"Yeah," Erica says, thoughtfully. "My other friends found it weird that I was mentioned on the site even though I don't have an account and don't go to Harvard."

"You have other friends?"

Erica kicks him under the table. "Plus, since I am head designer, we should talk about future layouts," she says, and goes to her notebook. "I had some ideas for it."

So during lunch they discuss design and color and functionality, especially for the overall photo albums page, which they have a mini disagreement on. It all feels real and like a real  _company_ , even if it's just the two of them over lunch at the library. Dustin comes back soon enough and watches them debate back and forth across the table, fascinated.

Mark gets more ideas from their conversation and tweaks the code a little when he gets back to his dorm, before just staring and watching the activity, feeling more smug than in awe like he had before. Eduardo has two club meetings and one meeting with one of his professors, so he can't come in today. Mark doesn't mind despite the twang in his chest that he both hates and figures he should go softer on himself for; Eduardo has other things in his life to focus his energies into, and Mark has thefacebook.

***

It's well into the semester, and after the fourth weekend since thefacebook launched, when Mark is at the desk patching up some bugs and Dustin swings in, looking breathless. Mark frowns at the clock—Dustin's shift isn't due for at least another ten minutes. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Wanted... to catch you... before you left," Dustin pants, clutching onto the counter for support. He holds a finger up. "One minute."

Mark watches with bemusement as Dustin catches his breath. "We live together," he says.

"And you're in your room all the time," Dustin points out. "With the door locked. You could be working on thefacebook, or jerking off, or with Wardo—" He shudders.

"I wouldn't care."

"I would!" Dustin says indignantly. "And anyway our shifts today are back to back, so I figured."

Mark blinks at him. "Figured what?"

Dustin takes another half a second to catch his breath, before straightening up with some semblance of dignity.

"I want in," he declares.

Mark blinks again.

"What?"

"To thefacebook," says Dustin. "Coding, programming—you're practically killing yourself over it. I mean, it's just you and Wardo, right? And Erica, I guess, for the—" He waves a hand.

Mark stares at him. "It's not me and Wardo," he says. "I mean, it's not just—me and him. It's just me."

"Oh." Dustin looks surprised. "I thought he was your CFO."

"What?"

"He's an econ major, right? And you guys are like, dating, and everything else, I figured you would've made him your CFO."

"I." Mark licks his lips. "No. He's just my boyfriend."

The word stumbles out, the admittance new on his tongue. Mark racks his brain and tries to think of the last time he called Eduardo that, but finds that he can't recall any moment beforehand.

Dustin doesn't seem to notice his minor freakout. "Oh. Well. I guess I could've offered myself for that position," he muses. "But I spent the weekend reading  _Perl for Dummies_ , so I'm all ready to code!"

Mark doesn't even bother hiding his laugh. "The site's not written in Perl," he says, returning to his computer.

"I can read  _C++ for Dummies_  by Friday," Dustin says helpfully.

Mark doesn't give him a straightforward answer, though he does think about it as he gets off work, Dustin peering over his shoulder and trying to understand his code. Mark also thinks about having called Eduardo his boyfriend for what feels like the first time, and half-wishes Eduardo was there. Mark would have to put up with teasing and maybe Eduardo making him say it again in bed, but the prospect is pretty nice.

The idea of Eduardo being thefacebook's CFO sounds so outlandish, though as Mark replays his and Dustin's conversation in his head, he realizes that he probably will need a CFO eventually, among a COO since Erica's decline, and other things. The site's expanded so far it's practically taken over Harvard's campus; but then there's  _actual_  expansion too, and Erica being more than just a name on a masthead.

He gets stopped a couple of times on his way back from the library, and agrees to another interview with the Crimson on the spot before they can ask to email him. The reporter is awkward doing their interview in the middle of the street, but Mark hikes his backpack up and answers the questions as curtly as possible.

She's asking him about potential new hires after he accidentally mentioned that he was thinking about that earlier, when he sees Eduardo across the street Eduardo meets his gaze and nods, coming across the block with his briefcase strapped over a shoulder. Mark spies a pack of Red Vines in his hands; he was probably coming to visit Mark anyway, after work.

As Eduardo approaches, Mark turns from the interviewer, greeting him. "Hey Wardo, do you want a job at thefacebook?" he says, smirking.

Eduardo rolls his eyes, shoving the red vines into his hands. "Sure, let's just add that to my never-ending list of job offers," he scoffs. "Hey, Jess," he says to the reporter.

"Oh, hi, Eduardo." The interviewer looks between them, surprised. "You two know each other?"

"In a manner of speaking," Mark says.

Eduardo rolls his eyes and elbows him. "Yeah," he says. "Oh wait, are you in the middle of interviewing Mark?" He spies her tape recorder. "Should I go off and be quiet somewhere?"

"No, we're pretty done here," she says, glancing at Mark, who nods.

"It's just the Crimson," Mark says to Eduardo.

Eduardo scoffs. The interviewer looks mildly offended, which Mark ignores. She says goodbye to them before heading off.

"Hopefully this one went better than the other one," Eduardo says, his wrist brushing against Mark's own.

Mark shrugs. "Probably. She was nice," he says.

They walk to Kirkland, not worrying about it; any backlash from the other article has mostly blown over, though they've tacked a copy of the column to their bulletin board, in memoriam. When they come into the dorm Eduardo glances at it with amusement, before grabbing drinks from the mini-fridge and heading to Mark's room. They get slowly drunk and Eduardo watches the weather channel on the small tv in Mark's room (Dustin has a bigger one, for the living room) while Mark monitors thefacebook.

Mark has his toes tucked under Eduardo's legs, for warmth, while Eduardo is spread perpendicular to him, along the length of his bed. Eduardo glances behind him during a commercial, because apparently there are commercials on the weather channel.

"How's the site looking?" he asks, probably because they've been intoxicated and quiet for the past fifteen minutes.

Mark shrugs. "It's still up," he says, taking a swig from his bottle.

Eduardo laughs, rolling onto his back. He stays in the same place, though, so Mark is barely pressed right under Eduardo's ass.

"You ever gonna monetize the thing?" Eduardo asks.

Mark squints in his direction. "What does that mean?"

"It means, when you think it'll be ready to start generating revenue—"

"No, I know what the word means." Mark waves his beer, absentmindedly. "I meant, like. What do you have in mind?" His mind flits to Eduardo being CFO again, asking him for a job. Wondering what it would've been like if he'd been less obviously joking about it.

Eduardo looks at him, gaze hazy but steady. "Advertising?" he says.

Mark turns back to his computer. "No," he says. "There's only five thousand members—"

"' _Only_ ' five thousand—?"

"It's a cool website, it needs to expand to other schools first," Mark explains. "I know what I'm doing, Wardo. This is my thing."

Eduardo scuffs Mark's side with his toe. "It is your thing," he says. "But you don't need to stay broke to just keep it up."

"It's not just keeping it up. It's—" Mark remembers words from not long ago. "It's like what you said that one time, it's like a baby. No, listen," he says, when Eduardo lets out an undignified snort. "I don't know... what it is. I don't know what it can be, or will be, but it's going to keep growing."

"And when do you think it's gonna finish growing?" Eduardo watches him with amusement. "Maybe I shouldn't have used that baby analogy, a plant one would've worked better."

"Facebook is not a plant," Mark says, rolling his eyes. "And it won't be finished, that's the—that's the point. Like fashion," he decides.

Eduardo's snort is even louder and more undignified this time. "You—You're talking about fashion?"

"Shut up," says Mark, as Eduardo's toe creeps up the side of his sweatpants. "The  _point_  is—the point is, thefacebook's cool, it's gotta stay that way."

"I don't think you'll make any money selling your pants, though," Eduardo snickers.

Thefacebook gets boring when there aren't any bugs left to fix and the activity is basically repetitive for the rest of the night. Mark sets his laptop aside and then Eduardo tugs him down, making him cuddle with him as they listen to the weatherman drone on, bright light shining across the expanse of Mark's bed in his dark room. Eventually cuddling turns to spooning, which turns to Eduardo grinding his ass against the front of Mark's crotch through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, and then they fuck, the glowing light of the weather channel streaming onto them.

Mark is sated afterward, a bit guiltily content that Eduardo isn't his CFO, now that it's been put in his brain today, mostly because of the advertising comment. He doesn't even know if Eduardo wants to be CFO—he's all about predicting and helping people out, in his interests and just in general. Plus with all his clubs and his thesis going on, it's not like Eduardo would've said seriously yes, anyway.

It doesn't change that he likes being with Eduardo, even if Eduardo is humoring him when Mark rants about the site's functionality. Eduardo gives his questionable input, but not in a way where he's expecting Mark to take him seriously. Mark likes— _loves_  that Eduardo pretends to care, or really does care, but not so much that he minds when Mark is dismissive of his input. He hadn't really catalogued himself and Eduardo away from thefacebook—both Eduardo, and thefacebook, once felt like linear, growing things. Mark half-expects these big feelings that make it feel like his chest will swell until it bursts to go away, but it just gets bigger, seeping into Mark's every nerve ending until it feels like his entire body reacts just thinking about Eduardo.

But he and Eduardo are fine, sex often enough, grinning at each other across the reading room when Mark does head counts, so it's not like that needs any more development. Thefacebook, though—

Mark arranges for a meeting that Wednesday, when he knows that Erica's last class ends at four and Chris and Dustin will be in. He comes back to Kirkland from Eduardo's apartment, along with Eduardo, after having spent the morning at work and class and the rest of the day steadfastly ignoring his assignments and monitoring thefacebook, among other things.

Erica is already there, on the couch, talking to Chris about something. Mark shrugs out of his hoodie—it's started to get cool enough for him to wear an extra layer outside, but that just means that the Kirkland heaters have started up this early, too.

"Hi," Mark says, glancing toward his bedroom where his whiteboard is, before deciding he doesn't need it. "So, we are expanding to BU," he nods to Erica, "and Yale, and Columbia."

"It's about time," says Erica.

Dustin, who's sitting next to her, blinks owlishly up at him.

"Dustin," Mark says. "Since you—" He deliberates. "I want you to share the coding work with me."

"You code?" Chris says to Dustin.

"I thought you were an econ major," says Eduardo.

Dustin opens his mouth, but Mark is too quick. "Save that for another time," he says to them. "Chris, you're gonna be in charge of publicity, and you can get us started by getting us a story in," he deliberates again. "Pretty much all of the student newspapers at the three of them."

Chris groans dramatically. "They hate doing articles about Harvard."

"Just tell some CS major that I'll do ten hours of free programming," says Mark, waving a hand. "So now you two are part of thefacebook," he gestures to Dustin and Chris, "and Erica—"

"I could help Chris get a story in the Bridge," she offers. "I have some friends who are on the team."

"Great," says Mark.

Eduardo comes around, perching his chin on Mark's shoulder. "And I'll be moral support," he says, teasing the shell of Mark's ear with his breath.

Mark bats his nose. "Get off, your chin is pointy," he says. But he doesn't protest when Eduardo sidles against his waist, twining their hands together.

"If you're going to expand," Eduardo says casually, "you should look into Stanford, too." He looks at Mark as he says this.

Mark furrows his eyebrows at him. "Stanford?"

"So it'll hit Palo Alto."

Mark can hear the underlying econ major of Eduardo in that statement, but can't deny that it's a good idea.

***

So thefacebook becomes  _them_  instead of just Mark, and even though Erica is officiated as head designer (and general rockstar, on the masthead), she helps Chris with public relations and cruises through the website daily now that she has an account, test-running to find several typos, broken functions, and other things. She tells Mark that she does this because she likes to tell him when he's wrong.

Dustin is scarily efficient and enthusiastic, making Mark wish he'd thought of asking him on sooner, though Dustin wouldn't have known programming at that point. He gets excited about patching, and is competitive about expansion, in a way that Mark wouldn't have even half the energy for. After teaching him the basic functionality and watching Dustin work for a while, Mark concludes that thefacebook will be fine in Dustin's reliable hands; he deigns him vice president and head of programming. And even though it's just the technical four of them, Dustin's grin is face-splitting.

The issue with Mark being approached at work about thefacebook is that word travels around fast, and suddenly people are coming to the desk, not because they need help around the library, but because they want to meet  _him_. It seems to amuse everyone at first, up until there's a line of patrons at Mark's desk pretending that they need library-related assistance, and then go, "Great job with thefacebook, man! Hey, can you friend me real quick?" and then the coworker at the computer next to him has no patrons and asks someone who'd just come in, "Can I help you?" and they just say, "No, I'm here to see Mark Zuckerberg."

Carlton pulls him aside one day when he's working circ. Mark starts up immediately with, "I'm not getting distracted at the desk, I've been tending to everyone who comes up to me, I—"

"I know, Mark," Carlton interrupts. He peers at Mark through his glasses. "You've become kind of famous."

Mark shrugs. "That's one way of looking at it."

"It's becoming a hassle for the rest of us," says Carlton. "Your website's great, and all—"

Panic seizes in Mark's chest. "I need the money to keep the servers running," he says. "I need my job—"

"No, you're not getting fired. Though it's nice to know that you're not thinking of abandoning us any time soon." Carlton sends Mark a wry smile. "No, I just meant that it's inconvenient for the desk, so I was thinking of having you work circ full-time."

"Oh." Mark falters. He doesn't dislike circ, and he's not bad at it, but—

"I'm aware that it'll limit your hours to check on your website," Carlton says.

"No, it's fine," says Mark, thinking about Eduardo. But at least he'll still have his shifts with Dustin, and he'll see Chris more since ILL workers tend to roam around the back more than otherwise, anyway. "I can do that. Are my hours changing?"

"You'll just switch places with Shelly on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and Vikram on Fridays and Mondays," says Carlton. "You can also work Super on—"

"It's okay," Mark says hastily. "Can I take an extra hour on Mondays and Tuesdays then?"

Carlton looks amused, but he lets him and they arrange it.

Mark tells Eduardo and the others about his new work arrangement; Dustin whines about no one else being as fun at the desk as Mark is, but Chris brings back candy from ILL to share with Mark while they're both on shift and discuss thefacebook during so. Eduardo jokes about how he has less of an excuse to come to the library now, though he always meets up with Mark after his circ shifts. Erica says, "Good, now you have more time over the weekend."

"The weekend." Mark scoffs. "That's when everyone goes out to their parties and challenges our bandwidth with all the dumb drunk pictures they post." He clicks around on his internet browser. "Do they know that their profiles are public?"

"Well, it's been five weeks since launch and we're hitting four more schools tomorrow," says Erica, because they'd successfully gotten the attentions of Yale, Stanford, and Columbia; BU had more or less agreed upon suggestion. "If anything goes wrong, Dustin'll probably just start screaming."

"I wouldn't scream," Dustin says, offended. "I'd let out a very manly yell. A shout."

Erica snorts and throws a wadded up ball of paper at him. "Sure," she says.

"Well I'm going to Wardo's today, so if anything does go wrong, shout loud enough for me to hear," says Mark, getting up and shutting his laptop. "Or just call me, that might be more convenient."

He packs his backpack away and says goodbye to Erica and Dustin; Chris is on the phone doing some interview, but he waves Mark out as he leaves. Mark makes his way to Eduardo's apartment; they don't do this in any sort of routine, but Mark has been tracking the time he spends with Eduardo the same way he tracks the progression of thefacebook, so when he feels like they've been a while since they've had time alone together, he'll invite himself over or text Eduardo to come study with him or something. He knows Eduardo's the same—he's taken Mark out for meals more than just pizza or burgers that it'll take Mark ten minutes to realize that they're out on a date.

Eduardo opens the door, on the phone but surprised. "Yeah, watch out," he says into the phone with a half-smile, before hanging up and putting a hand on the door. "Mark," he says.

"Wardo," Mark greets, sliding inside. "Are you free right now?"

"I, yeah," Eduardo says hurriedly. "Of course, this is just a surprise. Did you need something?"

"Not really," says Mark, shrugging out of his jacket. He puts it down, sitting on the couch, and pulls his laptop out, mostly for show. "Just wanted to hang out here."

"Because Dustin and Erica and Chris were being too loud?"

Mark thinks. He could lie, but—"No," he says.

Eduardo beams, seeming to get the message. "Okay," he says, sitting down on the couch and hovering over Mark's shoulder. where thefacebook is brought up on his front page and Mark can't really think of anything fully productive to do. "You aren't here to work at all, aren't you?"

Mark looks at him. "No."

Eduardo puts his hand on the lid of Mark's laptop, gently closing it. "Let's go to the bedroom," he says.

"Right," says Mark. He pushes his laptop to the side. "Okay."

They get to Eduardo's bed and Eduardo knocks him backward, kissing Mark gently. Mark drags Eduardo's lip between his teeth, sucking at his lower lip hungrily. He has a hand on Eduardo's face while Eduardo presses them close, hand on Mark's hip. Mark starts his hands down Eduardo's front, pawing at the front of his jeans. Eduardo swats him aside.

"What," Mark says, but Eduardo kisses him again, shutting him up.

"Don't," Eduardo whispers, breathing ragged between them. "Let me."

Mark furrows his eyebrows but obeys, as Eduardo kisses him slowly into the mattress, gliding his hands up under Mark's t-shirt, firm and warm along his sides. Mark keens and presses up for more heat as Eduardo lifts the hem of his shirt slowly, massaging at Mark's stomach. Mark pants and shivers; Eduardo's palms are smooth and soft, rubbing warmth down Mark's front. He doesn't go higher than just touching around his bellybutton, though, and Mark wants  _more_.

"Wardo," he gasps, trying to urge Eduardo's hands into more southern regions.

Eduardo brings his hands back up, though this time riding Mark's shirt higher, almost to his nipples. "Just stay there," he tells Mark.

Mark isn't sure how well he can listen to Eduardo. He whimpers, as Eduardo's head slinks down, nosing at one hardened nipple through his t-shirt. Sparks shoot down Mark's spine as he rubs with his thumbs, pushing Mark's shirt up even more that it's uncomfortable and bunched in the back, squeezing and pinching at Mark's nipples until they're pointy and red.

"As nice as this is," Mark says, through a harsh breath, "do you want to get on with it, to more important things?"

Eduardo chuckles, bringing himself back up and nosing along Mark's neck. "Patient," he breathes, biting down at a sensitive spot on his flesh.

Mark arches; Eduardo slides Mark's shirt off completely, and wrung out as he tosses it to the ground. Mark expects him to take his own shirt off too, or at least take Mark's pants off. Instead, Eduardo just presses kisses down Mark's collarbone, to the shoulder and biting down at the skin. He soothes it with light suckling but he keeps going, slow and over and over again. Mark knows that his chest is going to bloom with like fifty thousand bruises after this. He's not exactly turned off by the idea, but—

" _Wardo_ ," he whines, needy.

Eduardo ignores him, going to Mark's armpit and nuzzling at the hair there. That should be really weird, but instead it's kind of sexy, which Mark will probably not analyze later. "You're so smart," he says to Mark's armpit hair. "And amazing, and you're here in bed with me."

"Thank you for telling me facts I already know," says Mark, though when Eduardo lifts his head up to look at him, they're both smiling.

"I just want to remind you," Eduardo says.

Mark rolls his eyes and drags Eduardo up. Eduardo doesn't protest as he kisses him, though his hands slide under Mark to lift him up a little more, so that Mark's head is perched higher on the pillow.

"Stay there," Eduardo orders, when they've broken apart and Mark is breathless and blissed out. Mark nods mindlessly as Eduardo kisses a line down his chest again, biting gently at the line of his ribs, rubbing what little stubble he has against Mark's soft belly. Mark whines because it chafes but also feels good; Eduardo gets to Mark's cargo shorts, managing to get the zipper down wit his  _teeth_.

"What the fuck," Mark says without thinking, watching him through it all. Eduardo is stupidly sexy and fuck what he said to Mark earlier, he's the one in bed here with  _Mark_. Mark keeps his gaze trained as Eduardo doesn't even take his cargo shorts off, just keeps going lower and places his mouth at the vee of Mark's shorts.

Mark twists up violently. Eduardo goes with it, letting him react as he waters his mouth against Mark's crotch, getting it all wet and mouthing a little along the side where he knows Mark's dick is. Mark tries not to move so much again, though his chest is heaving a bit and he's doing his best to watch Eduardo and not just lose himself in the feeling. Mark is rock hard against him and is pretty sure that the stain of precum in his shorts is mixed with Eduardo's saliva, which is somehow even hotter.

Eduardo peels his shorts off eventually, eyes dark on Mark's leaking dick. "Mark," he says in an undertone; Mark's not sure if Eduardo realizes he's just spoken, but Eduardo fondles Mark with one hand, running his thumb along the length. Mark could probably come in under a minute, but this is so  _good_  that he wants it to last. Eduardo's other hand goes to his own jeans, undoing them and shoving his hands down the front. He's jerking himself and rubbing Mark's dick with both hands, and that is so unbelievably hot.

Mark presses upward. "Get on with it, Wardo," he says, voice a little hoarse.

Eduardo doesn't even try to consolidate him with some sort of command, just says, "Yeah." He pulls his other hand out of his own slacks which is a sight Mark is sad to see go—but then he takes Mark's cock with both hands, leans himself back, and licks.

Mark pushes down every embarrassing sound he could possibly make in his throat, though he probably fails at some points and lets a few noises slip. Eduardo is undeterred; he starts off with tiny licks at Mark's cockhead, going down and tracing his nose down to Mark's balls. Mark squeaks a little as Eduardo lifts his hips up with one hand so even Mark's ass is raised from the bed; Eduardo flits his mouth over Mark's sac, sucking gently as he runs his hands down Mark's cock, rough at first but soon smoothed over with Mark's precum. Mark is  _so_  ready to orgasm but forces himself back; Eduardo takes his mouth off Mark's balls and rests him back down, removing his hands and replacing them with his lips on Mark's dick instead.

Mark groans out, " _Wardo_ ," watching it all. Eduardo closes his eyes, long lashes against his cheek, beautiful as he sucks Mark off, slowly and rhythmically, hot and wet. Mark watches as Eduardo hollows his cheeks, takes him deeper and deeper, swallowing and swallowing until it hits the back of Eduardo's throat. Eduardo chokes around Mark's cock but doesn't pull off, just opens his eyes and watches Mark again, bobbing his head and chin and holy  _shit_  how has Mark not come yet.

Eduardo's hands have disappeared, but it doesn't take Mark long to realize that they have returned to one of their rightful places in Eduardo's pants, jerking himself off in a horribly awkward position, with Eduardo's pretty mouth still around Mark's dick. That's what gets Mark to lose control, to send himself over the edge; he whines high and thrusts his hips forward and comes, almost into Eduardo's mouth.

Faintly he feels Eduardo pull off sometime early—not like Mark really cares, this is possibly the hardest he's ever come in his life—hand stroking down Mark's dick, milking him through it. When Mark opens his eyes again, he sees that Eduardo is watching him through, pumping his hand up and down, a little bit of Mark's come splashed on his cheek.

Mark leans back, staring at the ceiling. "Jesus."

He allows himself to rest for one second, before yanking Eduardo up and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. He means to slide his hand down Eduardo's pants, jack him off together, but Eduardo still has one hand down his pants and grinds against Mark once, twice, before opening his mouth along Mark's cheek and shuddering against him.

Mark watches as he comes in his pants. "That's not fair," he complains, as Eduardo winds down. "I wanted to help you."

Eduardo laughs a little, close to Mark's ear. "That's okay," he says. "Some other time."

Mark rolls his eyes and tugs at Eduardo until they're eye to eye again, and kisses his own come off Eduardo's face. It's really gross and tastes kind of weird, but Eduardo also seems to be pretty into the idea of Mark lapping up his own come from the side of his mouth by the eager way he kisses back. Mark won't say he doesn't make sacrifices.

They lie like idiots for a while, until Eduardo's stomach grumbles from under Mark's elbow and he nearly knocks himself over from snickering. Eduardo watches him with a pout and says, "I'm hungry, I had breakfast four hours ago."

Mark snorts, because, breakfast. "I'm hungry too," he admits, because he hasn't eaten at all today. "Let's order something."

"Or we could go out," Eduardo suggests, looking down at him.

Mark groans, rolling a little off Eduardo's body. "But that requires putting clothes back on," he says. "And moving." He is perfectly happy here, especially since it's gotten colder and he doesn't want his body temperature to adjust to the chill beginning to pick up outside.

Eduardo prods him off, anyway. "Yes, human functions you are perfectly capable of," he says. "Let's go somewhere. I'll pay."

"Like you ever don't," Mark says, rolling his eyes. He gets up, anyway.

They clean themselves off and put their clothes back on, though Eduardo has to change his underwear and pants, considering he came in them. Mark almost brings his laptop with them, staring at his backpack forlornly on the floor in front of the couch, but Eduardo tugs him along. "Lunch," he reminds Mark. "Good, delicious, amazing food."

"Better than your cooking," says Mark, turning to him.

Eduardo squawks and elbows him. Mark elbows him back as they make their way out of the apartment.

Lunch is Chinese food at a nearby street corner, which by all objectivity is better than Eduardo's cooking, though Mark would probably prefer Eduardo behind the kitchen counter in an apron and squeaking about burning his food. Afterward when they're walking back, Eduardo is making some comment about his thesis advisor and laughing, light glinting off his hair like the first and many other times Mark has seen him.

A lump rises in Mark's throat, and he resists the urge to say something soppy and ridiculous. They make their way back to Eduardo's apartment, though when they round the street corner and head down, the guy that Mark vaguely remembers as the guy who interviewed him for the Crimson that first time—he doesn't remember his name—stops them.

"Excuse me, Mark?" he says, as if Mark needs (yet again) another reminder of his own name. "Are you free right now to do another interview for the Crimson?"

"About what?" Mark says, annoyed. "If it's related to thefacebook, yes, we're expanding tomorrow." He tries to push his way by the guy, who just gets in his way again. "Otherwise, no, I already answered all your stupid questions last time, there's nothing left to say."

The guy's eyes flicker toward Eduardo. "What about your new coworkers, Dustin Moscovitz and Chris Hughes?" he asks, shoving his recorder into Mark's face. "Are you hiring him, too?" He gestures to Eduardo.

"I—No." Mark scowls. "And Dustin and Chris have been working with me for a week already, they're hardly new. Keep up."

"Alright, thanks," Eduardo says hurriedly, pushing them away.

The guy stops in front of Mark and Eduardo again. "Is _he_ already a part of thefacebook?" he asks eagerly, thrusting the tape recorder in front of Eduardo. "What are your thoughts on thefacebook, Mister—"

"His name is Eduardo, and again, I'm not answering your questions anymore." Mark shoves his tape recorder out of the way. "Leave and don't come back. And also tell the Crimson to fire you."

He starts off once more, but Eduardo's grip on his arm suddenly tightens as he tries to move away. "Wait, no, Mark," Eduardo says, as Mark swivels around. "I, uh."

He looks the annoying interviewer in the eye, then leans in to the tape recorder. "I'm Eduardo Saverin," he says into it. "I'm Mark's boyfriend."

The annoying guy's eyes practically  _light up_ , to Mark's dismay. And before Mark can haul Eduardo away and maybe ask him why the hell he did that, he asks, "What is it that you do with thefacebook? Did you inspire Mark in any way?"

Eduardo laughs, looking calm even though Mark is just glancing between him and the damned tape recorder, alarmed.

"No, no," says Eduardo. "Mark's brilliant on his own, he—" He smiles, eyes crinkling. "I watched him build thefacebook since the beginning—"

" _Near_  the beginning," is the only thing Mark can manage out.

"Near the beginning, he's amazing." Eduardo comfortably slides his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm just a support system, there's really—there's not much to say."

The guy nods, and opens his mouth, like he has something else to ask Eduardo. But Mark wrings his hands around Eduardo's arm and says, "We're leaving now," and Eduardo lets himself be pulled away as the annoying interviewer saves whatever bullshit he has on his tape recorder, likely going to write another terribly written and out of context article.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mark demands, once they're alone. "I thought you didn't want—"

"If thefacebook goes big and I'm still around, I'll have to come out to my parents at some point," Eduardo says. He's unruffled, which is throwing Mark off. "It was a good—I might as well come out with it now, don't you think?"

"I don't—" Mark blinks, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. "I mean, I guess, but—"

"I'm sure," Eduardo assures him. "You're okay with it too, right?"

"Well obviously, if people don't want to use thefacebook because they're homophobic, then they're going to have a problem with all of Alan Cumming's movies too. But—"

"I'm not even part of thefacebook," Eduardo says. "It's not like they'll have much to write about me, anyway."

***

But they do. The article that gets released only a couple of days later pretty much quotes what Eduardo had said word-for-word, citing him as Facebook's "moral support." Eduardo is endlessly amused while Erica says, "Wow, I don't recall Eduardo supporting me," while Dustin demands more of Eduardo's attention and Chris teases them for being cute.

Mark has already had an interview scheduled on Monday about expanding, so since the article about Eduardo, he gets questions about him then too. He brushes them off as best as he can, though for the most part he just sits in silence and lets the interviewer suffer until they move onto the next, non-Eduardo related question. The article that gets released at the end of the week is carefully more objective, and doesn't mention Eduardo at all.

Erica swings by often enough that they've pretty much designated their Kirkland suite as the unofficial thefacebook offices, working from the couch and Dustin and Mark's desks as they allow. Erica doodles new layout designs in her notebook, sometimes single column to troll Mark, and they get into heated debates if #FF4500 is more red or yellow. One time she accidentally falls asleep on the couch and all of them are mostly too scared to wake her up (well, Mark and Eduardo aren't, but Dustin and Chris insist to leave her alone) so the next morning she wakes up freakishly early and curses loudly before running back to BU's campus.

Between the hectic mess of thefacebook and all, Mark survives work at circ, though its repetitiveness gets boring, even with Chris stealing in Lifesavers from the back or Dustin checking in preservation books (since he knows Mark hates it) while Mark sorts through the media they have on reserve. He texts Eduardo frequently, who sometimes doesn't respond if he's in class, or does respond even if he's in the middle of cooking.

Chris says, when Mark tells him this, "He's going to burn his apartment down some day."

"He's not," Mark says, scribbling a call number on another index card. Chris is filing things up on a high shelf. "He doesn't use the oven, and his fire extinguisher is right on the mantle."

"He'd probably forget it if he was still busy texting you," says Chris. "He'd be texting you the whole time instead of getting it."

Mark scowls. "Can we not talk about my boyfriend setting his apartment on fire?"

"I'm just saying," Chris says, filing up another book. "You're both hopeless, it's almost disastrous."

Karma, Mark thinks, when the book Chris had just put away falls back down and hits him on the head.

Thefacebook's disk space is getting fuller by the day, even with the two months' worth of salary Mark spent on it initially. He still has quite a bit left to buy some more space, though doing the math along with everything else he needs to purchase he's not sure how long it can last. The time that he spends at work is pretty much the same even with the grinding task of checking in books and staring at the computer catalog for hours a day. Still, money. He tries to take on sub shifts, but can only do it for circ ones even when he insists that he can make himself look as inconspicuous as possible at the desk—"We're here to help patrons," Carlton had told him, "not sign autographs."

At least on the next Friday the only thing on his agenda is four straight hours of circ work in the morning, and then he's off for the weekend. Half-asleep and yawning, Mark makes his way out of the library and starts down the block, before he realizes he's heading for Eduardo's. Not minding, though, he texts him and then continues in the direction.

Eduardo opens the door, practically catching him as Mark leans into his chest. "Hey," Eduardo says, laughing a little and righting Mark back up. "Done for the week?"

"I should check thefacebook," Mark muses tiredly, going for the couch.

"Okay," says Eduardo, watching him settle himself down. His hair is damp and he's wearing a button-up and pajama pants. "I need to get ready and go to class, but I'll be back for lunch."

Mark nods, taking his laptop out and propping it on his lap. He probably falls asleep with his eyes open because they aren't closed, but it feels too long when Eduardo appears again, shaking his shoulder and saying, "I gotta go to class now. Mark?"

"Huh?" Mark turns to him. "Oh, yeah." He sways forward.

Eduardo watches him for a moment, before a small smile forms on his lips and he kisses Mark on the forehead. "Be good," he says as he heads towards his front door.

"I'm not a child," Mark mumbles, clicking absently on his computer screen.

Thefacebook is, as usual, boring and the same, server space filling at its usual pace. Mark watches the activity with his cheek in his hand, propped against the armrest of his chair, mind flitting between thefacebook and Eduardo out the door and work hours and Dustin and Chris and Erica.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, though he wakes up to his laptop being closed and lifted up off his lap, a hand at his aching arm trying to lay him down horizontal. Mark makes an incoherent noise as a form of protest as he's being pressed down, and the pressure stops.

"Wardo," Mark mumbles; his mouth feels wooly and he licks around.

"I thought you were asleep," says Eduardo's voice. Mark pries his eyes open to see Eduardo standing up above him, a blanket in his hands.

"I was checking on thefacebook." Mark straggles to his feet and barely manages to stand between Eduardo and the couch; Eduardo holds him steady by the shoulder. "Let's have sex."

"Sex?" Eduardo raises his eyebrows. "You're tired, I'm pretty sure—"

"No, no." Mark waves him off. "Sex will wake me up. I know," he adds, when Eduardo's eyebrows go even higher in disbelief.

"Sex will wake you up," Eduardo repeats, smiling down at him.

Mark pushes into his chest, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I just said that," he says, willing himself to wake up faster. "Are we going to have sex here, on the floor, or in your bedroom?"

"We'll get rug burns if we do it on the floor," Eduardo points out.

Mark shrugs. "You have a blanket."

So they end up fucking on the floor somehow, bare because they'd gotten tested a week back, which is kind of strange but mostly unbelievably hot, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the walls. The curtains are wide open, streaming daylight onto them as Eduardo holds one of Mark's legs up, kissing the inside of his ankle. Mark half-kicks him and says, "Gross, that's like, my feet."

"Your feet aren't that gross," Eduardo says.

Mark just tightens himself around him.

Eduardo holds Mark off from his orgasm when he comes inside Mark, even when Mark feels his balls clench. Eduardo says, "Not yet," and flips Mark over, and then his mouth is on Mark's asshole, damp and licking himself out of Mark and holy  _shit_. Mark writhes and whines, "Please, please, I need," and Eduardo's other hand comes along to stroke along Mark's dick as he eats his own come out of Mark's ass, and Mark comes in less than three seconds flat afterward.

After, Eduardo complains about the blanket being dirty. Mark says, "Your mouth is even worse." Eduardo scrunches his nose and says, "I know. Be right back." He leaves to the bathroom and Mark hears the sound of Eduardo brushing his teeth.

Mark forces himself to stay awake so he's conscious when Eduardo comes back and kisses Mark on the mouth, minty fresh. Mark kisses back, muscles going slack as they lie across the blanket, wrapping themselves in it.

They get tangled and Eduardo, giggling, says, "I'm going to go get a cleaner one," and unwraps himself from Mark. Mark watches him (and his legs) as he gets up again.

His laptop is still on Eduardo's couch, so he pulls it off and opens it, doing a cursory check of anything and making sure that Dustin hadn't texted him between the period of when Mark had fallen asleep and when he and Eduardo had just finished fucking on the floor. He's pulling up his email when he puts his phone away, satisfied, and expects the usual uninteresting emails from his teachers and useless questions from other people about thefacebook.

His heart nearly stops when he sees the message at the top of his inbox.

Mark clicks on the bolded name of _Sean Parker_ , heart hammering in his chest. The email that appears in the sidebar is of decent length, and Mark tries not to read it too fast or too slow. When he's done, he's still staring at his computer in disbelief.

Eduardo comes back in with a blanket in hand, saying, "I couldn't find the red one, but I know you like the fleece one anyway, so here." He pauses when he realizes that Mark is still frozen in place in front of his computer. "Mark? What's up?"

"Sean Parker wants to meet up," Mark breathes.

Eduardo crouches behind him, looking over his shoulder. "Who?" he asks nudging him.

"Sean Parker wants to talk about thefacebook," Mark says, not quite believing his own words.

Eduardo smiles at him, though he looks more confused than anything. "That's nice," he says, pushing the blanket into Mark's hands. "C'mon, you're going to sleep now."

Mark gets himself comfortable, wriggling himself under his blanket before he knows what he's doing, still thinking about the email from  _Sean Parker_. "He's the guy who founded Napster," he says, as he rests his head down. "And he's interested in  _thefacebook_."

"I told you it would blow up," Eduardo says, smiling down at him. He joins Mark under the covers. "I'm happy for you."

"Sean Parker," Mark whispers, still trying to believe himself.

Eduardo curls around him, warm enough to put Mark to sleep quick enough, on the floor of his living room. They nap like cats under the sunlight, comfortable and cozy.

***

Mark wakes up some indeterminable amount of time later, sleepy but much better rested than before. There's a clicking somewhere to his side, though Mark doesn't mind it so much. He rolls over and runs into Eduardo's thigh and the hem of his boxer-briefs, pressed against his face. He rubs his face on it.

Eduardo chuckles from above him. "Mark, are you awake?"

Mark is too lazy to respond so he pretends to be asleep, face squashed against his leg.

The clicking resumes, and some typing, and Eduardo humming absently under his breath. Mark doesn't know how long it takes him then, but as consciousness slowly fills his body again, he pulls himself away from Eduardo's leg, sitting up and rubbing his eyes open.

"Good morning," Eduardo says brightly from next to him.

Mark rolls his eyes. "Good afternoon," he corrects, looking at him. Eduardo is still wearing his button-up from before, and has a mug of something on the coffee table next to him.

"Good afternoon," Eduardo agrees. "I was looking up Sean Parker, and—"

"Oh my god." It all hits Mark again, Sean Parker's email,  _Sean Parker_ , and— "Sean Parker," is all Mark manages out. He tries for coherency again, but as he clambers up, he can only say, "Thefacebook."

"Yes," Eduardo says patiently. "I was just doing some research on him, and—"

"He founded Napster," Mark says eagerly. "When he was  _nineteen_. And I get to meet him."

"Yes." Eduardo's frown is more pronounced this time. "But I was doing some research on him, and he seems to be—"

"This is the next step for thefacebook," Mark says, pacing back and forth even though he's naked. "Sean Parker will take us to the next level. We'll—"

"Mark!" Eduardo says sharply.

Mark looks at him.

"Do you even know what Sean Parker has been doing for the past few years?" Eduardo says.

Mark snorts. "Who cares? People know who he is.  _I_  know who he is. He—"

"Founded Napster when he was nineteen, yes," Eduardo bites out, looking mutinous. "He also crashed out of two internet companies in spectacular fashion, and he has a history with drugs—"

"Everyone has a history with drugs."

"My  _point_  is," Eduardo presses on, eyes narrowing. "Are you sure you want to meet with him, Mark? Even when he seems to be—"

"Yes," Mark says. He scowls. "He'll be good for thefacebook, he'll introduce us to people."

"With the way you're going right now, I'm not sure if you'll need him."

"He knows how to make thefacebook  _big_ , Wardo," Mark snaps. "I'm not sure if you understand, but—"

"I'm an econ major, of course I understand," Eduardo shoots back. "Thefacebook's not a business yet, I'm sure you could—"

"It's going to be a business soon, it's in four schools already! And counting," Mark adds, because he's been thinking about Baylor in Texas and Washington at St. Louis and so many other schools, they have so much expanding to do. Dustin's been shooting off suggestions left and right recently.

"I know it's going to be a business soon, but don't you think you're jumping the gun a little with Sean Parker? He's a wild card, you'd be perfectly fine without him—"

"But we can do better  _with_  him," Mark emphasizes. "I don't know why you're hung up about this, Wardo—"

"I don't want you to make a bad business mistake, that's all."

"You're not part of thefacebook," Mark points out. "Why is this so important to you?"

Eduardo grits his teeth, looking up at Mark before returning his gaze to his laptop. "Fine," he says, shortly. "Whatever."

"Whatever," Mark repeats.

The calm air of the room from only moments ago has been replaced with this tension. Eduardo is carefully not looking at him as Mark tries to focus his energies on Sean Parker and not this stupid fight with his boyfriend. It's not working, though, so he gathers up his clothes and says, "I'm going back to Kirkland."

"Fine," Eduardo says again.

Mark presses down a comment about telling Eduardo to read a thesaurus. He throws his clothes on, puts his laptop in his backpack, and leaves without saying goodbye.

Eduardo doesn't know thefacebook; he wouldn't know what's good for it, either. It's like what he said about ads, so Mark doesn't know why Eduardo seems to think his input about Sean Parker is important. Mark seethes all the way back to Kirkland, somehow arriving at the conclusion that Eduardo is jealous, even though Eduardo's dating him and sees him practically every day while Sean Parker is just an entity in the distance. Maybe Eduardo wants Mark's attention even though Mark already gives it to him all the time; maybe Eduardo just wants thefacebook. Though Eduardo likes the weather, not coding, so Mark doubts it.

He comes back to his dorm in a huff, dropping his backpack by the door and standing in front of it, trying to collect his thoughts and being less upset about Eduardo, and more excited about—

"Something wrong?" Erica's on the couch.

Mark blinks at her. "When did you get here?"

"Definitely before you, at least." Erica looks amused. "It's five in the afternoon. Where were you?"

Mark ignores her question. "Sean Parker is interested in thefacebook," he tells her.

Erica stares. "The—who?"

Mark's words finally catch up to him; everything with Eduardo gets chased out with the excitement of Sean Parker and  _thefacebook_ , and getting bigger and bigger and bigger. "Dustin! Chris!" he calls, because the door to Dustin's room is closed so he's either sleeping, coding, or jerking off. Chris is—Mark doesn't know where Chris is.

Chris appears out of Mark's room then, saying, "Oh, Mark, I was looking for the paper with the—"

"Yeah, yeah," Mark says, waving him off. "Where's—"

The door to Dustin's room slams open. "What?" Dustin says, wide-eyed. "Did we crash?"

"What? No," Mark says, frowning. "Wait, did we?"

Erica refreshes her laptop on the coffee table. "Nope," she says cheerfully.

"Great. Now I already told Erica, but." Mark looks between Chris and Dustin, not able to push back the grin spreading across his face. "Sean Parker wants to meet up to talk about thefacebook."

Chris and Dustin look between each other, before Dustin goes, "Sean Parker? The guy who founded Napster?"

"Isn't he like a zillionaire?" Chris asks.

"I don't know," Mark says, grinning at the both of them. "But if he wants to help thefacebook expand..."

"Dude," says Dustin. "Holy  _shit_."

"We're going places!" Erica whoops from the couch.

"This is incredible," says Chris, looking around them, awed. "I'm—We're all part of this—This  _is_  going places."

Dustin shouts again, "Holy  _shit_ , Mark!" before coming around and clapping Mark on the back, yanking him for some sort of half-hug. Mark doesn't have the energy to protest; in fact, he reciprocates a little. "Holy shit, thefacebook is— _we're_  gonna be big! Bigger than we are now, at least."

"We're going to be amazing," says Mark. His mouth hurts from smiling so much, and he doesn't care. "Now, Dustin, about Baylor..."

***

He emails Sean Parker later that evening saying that lunch with him sounds good, when is he thinking of coming over? Sean Parker emails back less than a couple of hours later saying that he's going to be in New York for something later this week, so he can come up to Boston to meet with him. Mark responds, excited, though he tries to make his email sound as professional as possible.

He texts Erica about it and tells Dustin and Chris, though Erica says that she's swamped with classes and coursework over the week ("It's our company, Erica." "It's also my grades and future and money.") Dustin has a presentation for a class he can't miss, while Chris has four essays due at the end of the week that he'll have to be holed up in his room the whole time. Mark is disappointed and emails Sean Parker this, though Sean Parker seems happy just to briefly meet up with Mark at the very least.

Mark and Eduardo don't see each other all weekend, though on Monday after his morning shift, Mark's surprised to see Eduardo outside near the desk waiting for him.

"Hi," Mark says, when he's close enough.

Eduardo gives him a trying smile. "Hi," he says back.

Mark half-expects him to apologize, half-expects Eduardo to ask him to apologize. It's not his fault that Eduardo doesn't like Sean Parker even though he's never met him; thefacebook  _is_  Mark's thing, not in any form Eduardo's, so Eduardo has no right to care or tell him what to do.

But Eduardo just asks, "Breakfast?" And then over breakfast he complains about his thesis advisor, before he asks about thefacebook. Mark answers, not bringing up Sean Parker, and Eduardo nods the whole time looking interested. They split the second half of his bagel and Mark makes fun of him for using salmon cream cheese but eats it anyway, and Eduardo sees him off before his next class.

So that's all okay. Maybe Eduardo has accepted that business involving Sean Parker and thefacebook is not his business. Which he should, and probably has, anyway, because Mark doesn't date idiots, and Eduardo is not flawless but he's also generally not annoying. Mark is content with this. Eduardo brings him dinner the next day and Mark is watching thefacebook grow and grow and it's all good.

The lunch date with Sean is scheduled to be on Thursday, right after Mark's work. Mark gets off early so he can make the bus to Boston, but on his way out of the building, he nearly runs into the glass door when he sees Eduardo right on the other side of it.

"Oh," Mark says. "Hi, what are you—"

And then he remembers. Fuck. He has lunch with Eduardo on Thursdays.

To affirm this, Eduardo sends him a smile and says, "Lunch? Did you get off early?"

"Yeah, I." Mark shakes his head and pushes his way outside. "I have, uh—"

"Great." Eduardo joins him at his side. "What do you want to eat? Because I was thinking tacos, but if you wanted, we could—"

"I have lunch with Sean Parker today," Mark says.

Eduardo stops in his tracks, though Mark does too, turning to him.

"What?" Eduardo says.

"Lunch, when he emailed me, we decided—" Mark chews on his bottom lip. "I forgot to—"

Eduardo looks like he's trying his hardest to not look both crushed and furious. Mark's brain works fast. There isn't anything  _wrong_ , nothing needs fixing, but if Eduardo is really offended by the idea of Sean Parker—

"You should come with us," Mark says. "With me," he clarifies. "To lunch. You can meet Sean Parker."

Eduardo blinks, the expression on his face slowly being replaced with something else. "I'm not sure if that's—"

"No, Wardo, you don't like him, and you've never met him before."

"I don't not like him, I just don't—"

"Then make your judgements after you meet him," Mark says pointedly.

Eduardo snorts. "Are you really the one saying this to me right now?"

"Wardo."

"I'm just saying, I don't think he'll be good for thefacebook based on what I've read about him, that's all," says Eduardo.

"You can read stories about me hating rich people, I don't see how that means anything."

"You  _do_  hate rich people though," says Eduardo, coming to join him.

Mark rolls his eyes. "If I hated all of them, I wouldn't be dating you," he says. "So? Are you coming to meet Sean Parker with me or not?"

Eduardo sighs, but tangles his hand with Mark's. "Fine."

The place that Mark and Sean Parker had agreed upon—the place that Sean had suggested, really—is some elaborate Thai restaurant out further than BU, in the downtown area of Boston. Mark and Eduardo take the T there, Eduardo carefully asking about thefacebook without bringing up Sean Parker, which Mark thinks is silly since they're about to meet him. Mark doesn't bring him up again though either. If Eduardo is holding off on saying something until he meets him, that's even better.

They get there, a little late because every streetlight along the way had started red and Eduardo made Mark wait until it had turned green to cross. Mark walks into the restaurant, sweating from both speed walking and adrenaline, trying not to pant.

"He's not here yet." Eduardo's voice is clipped.

"He's probably running late like we are," Mark says, as a waitress approaches them. "Three, please."

"He doesn't go to school around here. He should've gotten an earlier train."

Mark gives him a look. "Stop it," he says, as they're seated. "He founded Napster, he can afford to be late."

"When will you stop talking about how he founded Napster?"

"And when will you stop giving a hard time when you haven't even met him?" Mark shoots back.

"I don't even know why I'm here."

"Because I want to have lunch with my boyfriend, and I also want to have lunch with Sean Parker."

Eduardo pauses, looking at Mark from the side. Mark fiddles with the silverware laid out in front of him. Eduardo takes one of Mark's hands and entwines it with his under the table, squeezing like it's an apology.

The waitress comes by asking for their drinks, but both of them just ask for water as they wait for Sean Parker to show up. "I'm just saying," Mark says, as Eduardo takes a sip of his own drink, "if you're jealous or something, it's dumb and irrational."

Eduardo nearly chokes on his water, though he swallows it down. " _Jealous_?" he says incredulously. "You think I'm—"

"I don't know where all this vitriol is coming from," Mark points out. "You aren't like this with Chris or Dustin, or even Erica—"

"Probably because they didn't get sued by Clarium Capital."

Mark is about to retort, but the door to the restaurant chimes and Mark's gaze immediately snaps towards the door. He straightens up, because headed their way is a guy in a sports jacket, with curly hair cropped short and a broad grin on his face.

Mark's hand twitches on the table. "He's here," he murmurs.

Sean Parker comes up to them. Mark stands up immediately.

"Mark," Sean Parker says, stretching out his hand.

Mark takes it immediately, trying not to dead fish his hand as Sean shakes it. "That's me."

Sean's mouth spreads into a wider grin. "Of course," he says, before turning to Eduardo. "And who's this?"

"That's Eduardo, my—"

"I'm Mark's boyfriend," Eduardo cuts in.

"Ah," says Sean. "So you're the one. I read about you in Harvard's paper the other day. Cute stuff." He smirks.

Mark hurries, "Don't mind him, we usually have lunch together on Thursdays and I forgot—"

"It's fine, it's fine," Sean says, settling his napkin over his lap. "It's always nice to meet the Missus. Lets me figure out what kind of taste my clients have."

Eduardo's shoulders tense, but Mark ignores it. "You do this a lot, then?" he asks Sean.

"Oh, no, I've been looking for a new project for ages," says Sean. "But let's not talk about that now. What do you guys like to drink?"

"Beer's fine," says Mark.

Sean turns to Eduardo. Mark expects Eduardo to also ask for a beer, or at least a spot of wine or something. Instead Eduardo pauses for a brief second, before relaxing against Mark's side and saying, "Manhattan. On the rocks, perfect."

"At noon?" Sean looks amused.

Eduardo smiles thinly and doesn't say anything.

After Sean orders their drinks and food, Mark asks, "So what have you been doing lately?" mostly to make conversation, and also to prove to Eduardo that Sean Parker isn't the person he thinks he is.

"Mostly hopping around, trying to find the next big thing," Sean says. "Which is thefacebook, of course," and he gestures to Mark, "but man, shit's always happening in Stanford. Palo Alto, you know?"

"What are you doing in Stanford?" Eduardo asks.

Sean laughs lightly, swirling around his own cocktail. "Oh, you know, bouncing off ideas with kids, girls, the like."

"Girls," Eduardo repeats.

"Met a few guys, watched them try to start their companies," says Sean, smirking. "Of course, opportunity's not for everyone even in Palo Alto. Sometimes you start something that you think's gonna be great but then it gets you nowhere."

"Do you think thefacebook's like that?" Mark asks.

"Thefacebook? Nah, you hit Stanford so quick, and it's on the other side of the country." Sean lifts his drink up. "Reminds me of me, Mark."

Mark feels his cheeks flush, pleased.

Beside him, Eduardo snorts.

Sean takes a sip of his drink. "You know how fast Napster took off? It whizzed by, and I can't even remember all of it. One minute I was chatting with Shawn Fanning in my high school bedroom, the thing thing I knew," he makes a whooshing sound with his mouth, "I was out playing with the big boys, reading everything I could about entrepreneurship and just," he gestures to his forehead, "letting that sink in. By the end of '99, we had a million users, it was  _crazy_ —not like any record companies were happy with it, though."

He sets his drink down, leaning forward, his eyes alight.

"We were the fastest growing business of all time," he says to Mark and Eduardo. " _Of all time_ —shit, I was only nineteen. Then fucking Metallica man, and Dr. Dre—why did they care, when people wanted to listen to their music? People would buy their albums if they liked it that much. So, the RIAA," he counts on his fingers, "the A&M, all these lawsuits I didn't have time for cropped up. And I didn't want to spend my twenties as a professional defendant. Who knew the music industry doesn't have a sense of humor?"

Mark nods along, enraptured. He can feel Eduardo stiffen next to him, but if he really doesn't think this is interesting, then it's his loss.

"We tried to sell the company to pay the thirty-five million they said we owed in royalties," Sean continues. "But I guess to them that was a little like... selling a stolen car to pay for the stolen gas. So we said screw it, declared bankruptcy." He takes a sip of his drink. "Made a name for myself, though, so it was worth it."

"Must've been," Mark muses. "That was—That happened all in a year, too, didn't it?"

"More or less," says Sean, shrugging.

Mark thinks about it; a year ago and he'd barely had the idea for thefacebook in his head. And that hasn't felt like very long at all, because it's already been out for over thirty days, but Sean Parker is definitely something else.

He takes a sip of his own drink. Eduardo eyes him for a moment, then says, "You ordered a Coors Light? I thought you only drink Beck's."

"It was Sean—" Mark says, before realizing what Eduardo's doing. Narrowing his eyes, he shrugs, trying to play it cool. "And it's just beer. It's fine."

Sean glances between them. "I didn't realize you had a preference, Mark. I can get you a Beck's if you want—"

"I said it's fine," Mark says.

Eduardo actually wraps a hand around the bottle, attempting to pry it out of Mark's fingertips. "Let me, I'll order you a—"

"I said it's  _fine_ , Wardo." Mark yanks it back and glares. "It's just beer. I can live."

"Okay," says Eduardo, clearly trying for mild and sounding half-offended instead. "I was just saying, since it _was_ the only beer you drink."

Sean watches them. The expression on his face is amused.

"I know you kids don't have a lot of time, so I'll save the Plaxo story for later and cut to the chase," he says. "How's thefacebook doing? How many schools are you in now?"

"Twenty-nine," says Mark, with a strong sense of pride. "Plus over seventy-five thousand members, my roommates—my coworkers," he corrects, "and I have been working mostly from our dorms. Dustin, he's the one who's telling us what schools to go for next."

"Good, good. Ah," Sean says, because the waitress has just arrived with the food. "Thank you so much, sweetheart," he says to her.

The waitress shoots him a flirtatious smile before walking away. Mark watches with envy, despite Eduardo sitting next to him.

Sean guides them through the dishes, though Mark takes whatever he recommends since apparently Sean knows his way around Thai food. Eduardo declines the offers and says, "No, I'm going to order some pad thai." Mark shoots him a frown but Sean is unbothered, exchanging his dishes with Mark and talking about all the Thai food he's ever had in Los Angeles and Virginia and Washington D.C.

Sean passes some shrimp over to his plate as he says to Mark, "Tell me about the strategy you're using." Mark jumps in eagerly.

"We're mostly looking at schools that are closer together, or if they don't have a popular social network on their campus," he says. "And then Baylor, in Texas, we wanted them but they already had a social network, so we made a list of every school within a hundred mile radius, and—"

"Until Baylor kids saw their friends on thefacebook and wanted in, too." Sean nods appreciatively. "That's called the little bighorn Mark, that's smart."

"Do you want some pad thai?" Eduardo asks Mark out of nowhere.

Mark glances at him, startled. "Um, no," he says to Eduardo. Then, an afterthought, "Thanks."

"I need to work on my thesis tonight," says Eduardo. "I have a meeting with my advisor—"

"I think what's going for thefacebook is that it's cool," Sean says, cutting Eduardo off completely. "It's simple, it's easy, something about it makes your users want to come back—my friend Amy, she said it was 'freakishly addictive.'" He uses air quotes, grinning.

Mark feels pleased. "That's what we were going for," he says, before correcting himself. "What I was going for. It's straightforward, people go for their friends—"

"—to meet people they don't know yet, to meet people they just met," says Sean, and Mark nods vigorously. " _That's_  the heart of it. Connection, Mark. You understand it."

Mark shrugs modestly. "Psych major," he says.

"As an economics major," says Eduardo, "I think—"

"Thefacebook isn't quite a business yet," says Sean. "It's getting there, but why stop at twenty-nine schools to start giving everyone a bedtime? Make it cool everywhere else. Thefacebook's the biggest party on campus in some of the biggest schools in the world."

"Exactly," Mark says emphatically. "I don't know how big it's gonna get, how far it's gonna go—"

"You don't want to take your chips down yet," Sean agrees, nodding.

"Mark doesn't gamble," Eduardo puts in.

Mark nudges him. "I gambled with you," he says. "You thought that thefacebook wouldn't hit over five hundred members by launch day, we bet that—"

"I only bet that because I wanted you to win," says Eduardo. "Of course it would get over five hundred members, you think I didn't believe in you?"

Stung, Mark tries, "You didn't have to let me win, Wardo. I didn't think you didn't believe in me, you just made a bad estimation—"

"Not really if I didn't believe in it."

"Well I won anyway," Mark huffs.

Eduardo puts his hand at Mark's elbow. "I know you did," he says, gently this time. "I thought you would, you know how proud I am—"

"Don't aim for a million dollars," interrupts Sean. Mark isn't sure whether to be annoyed with him or grateful for the change of subject; Eduardo's hand drops from Mark's arm immediately. "A million dollars isn't enough. I've had friends out in Palo Alto become millionaires, but this—Mark,  _you_  have potential for more."

"More?" Mark asks. Eduardo is suspiciously quiet.

Sean nods slowly. He looks like he's trying to be dramatic on purpose, but since he's Sean Parker, Mark doesn't mind it so much.

"A billion dollars," Sean Parker says. "That's where you're headed. A billion dollar valuation."

His words ring in Mark's head. It's not the numbers that mean so much to Mark, as it is the effect. Of thefacebook, of himself.

"Unless you take bad advice," Sean adds. "In which case you might as well have come up with a chain of very successful yogurt shops."

"I wouldn't be against that," says Eduardo. "Good yogurt is hard to come by."

Sean ignores him. "When you're fishing, you can catch a lot of fish, or you can catch a big fish."

"We should've gotten seafood for lunch," says Eduardo.

"You ever walk into a guy's den and see a picture of him standing next to fourteen trout? No," says Sean, before either Mark or Eduardo can answer. "He's holding a three thousand pound marlin."

"I'm not sure if you know anything about marine life," says Eduardo, "but marlins don't come close to weighing three thousand pounds, and he would have to be ridiculously strong man in order to—"

"So thefacebook's the marlin," says Mark, before Eduardo can say anymore. He pointedly kicks Eduardo in the shin under the table, but Eduardo just flinches and glowers at the side of Mark's face.

"Exactly," says Sean. "And you're gonna be that guy, Mark, that strong guy. Despite this," and he reaches across the table to wiggle Mark's upper arm in jest.

Eduardo shoves Sean away and snaps, "He doesn't like it when people touch him."

Sean gives him a half-hearted smile. "My apologies," he says, as Mark digs his heel into the toe of Eduardo's boot. Eduardo doesn't flinch this time, keeping his gaze locked with Sean's.

They finish their food soon after, Sean bringing up thefacebook again and telling Mark which schools he thinks he should expand to next. Afterward, Sean picks up the check, which Mark thinks Eduardo should be a little grateful for since his own meal is included—instead Eduardo just glares the whole way, as Sean waves his goodbye and heads towards the restaurant's entrance.

Mark and Eduardo are quiet as they pack up their leftovers and carry their boxes out. They don't say anything until they're back outside, the door of the restaurant ringing behind them.

"You didn't have to be that hard on him," Mark says as they head toward the station.

"He touched you without asking," Eduardo bites out. "I had to—"

"Wardo, you didn't have to be that hard on him." Mark glares. "And what was with you interrupting everything he was saying?"

"He did the same thing to me!" Eduardo says indignantly.

"He's important to thefacebook and you could have just as easily kept quiet—"

"What, so now you just want me to sit back and say nothing when we were originally supposed to be on a date together?"

"I told you, I forgot about that, get over it," Mark says hotly. "You didn't have to come—"

"You  _wanted_  me to come—"

"And you certainly didn't have to start off hating Sean so much that made you act like a child like this." Mark scowls. "You know, I bet if you didn't do any research on him at all, you would've gotten along perfectly fine."

"I highly doubt it," Eduardo says. "And sorry for wanting to look out for my boyfriend and his company, okay, I thought I was doing you a favor."

"I told you then I didn't care what you think of him, and I'm still telling you now. I know what's good for my own company, Wardo—"

"And economics is my major in school, so I'm pretty sure I know what's good for it too," says Eduardo. "If you want to take my advice just  _once_ —"

"I'm not putting ads on it."

"I know you aren't,  _I don't care_ ," Eduardo emphasizes. "I'm just, I don't think Sean Parker is good for you or for thefacebook. That's all."

"And I've already met him once and I've decided that I like him," Mark retorts.

Eduardo shoves a hand into his pocket, turning away. "Fine," he says.

"Fine," says Mark.

They don't talk much on the ride back, Eduardo standing with his hand on the support while Mark sits on the bench, not looking at him. They both get off at the stop at Harvard Square, though Eduardo wavers before an emotionless, "See you later," and a dry kiss on the mouth.

Mark feels bad even though it's not his fault that Eduardo had chosen to act like a child. He walks back to his dorm, letting the feeling sink into his chest before trying to quash it with other things, like  _Sean Parker_  and his website that is very obviously not Eduardo's. Even though Mark had wanted him to come along, Eduardo could have easily said no; Mark wants to work with Sean Parker and make thefacebook bigger, but he wants to spend time with Eduardo, too.

When he gets back, Dustin and Chris ask about the lunch date. Mark thinks about telling them about the Eduardo thing too, but decides it's none of their business and talks about Sean Parker instead, without mentioning that Eduardo had come along at all. They're both just as excited as Mark is, and Dustin immediately goes to his computer to research the schools Sean had told them to tackle next. Mark wishes that he had brought them along instead.

He does tell Erica, though not in relation to Sean Parker. "Eduardo and I kind of also had a fight," he says on the phone, after they've finished freaking out about Sean Parker together.

Erica pauses. "What kind of fight?"

"A," Mark doesn't know how to describe it. "A jealousy fight? He's being stupid, I don't know."

"He probably thinks you're being stupid, too," says Erica.

Mark scoffs.

"Did you leave it angry?" Erica says, and takes Mark's unassuming grunt as the yes it's supposed to be. "You should talk it out with him," she says. "Figure out where you're coming from and let him know where you're coming from, without either of you being more right or wrong than the other."

"But he's being—"

"I'm sure you've had arguments with your friends before," Erica says calmly, and Mark doesn't bother mentioning that it's different when he's never had an argument with a boyfriend, and that he was right in most of his past fights, anyway. "You know I'm right."

Mark is disgruntled as he hangs up and turns back to his computer, watching the activity go. Thefacebook is big—bigger than him, either of them, this Kirkland dorm. But Mark likes to think that on some scale, he and Eduardo are pretty big too.

***

He thinks about how to raise the subject with Eduardo. Luckily, opportunity comes the next day, when Mark's passed out on his keyboard and wakes up to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door.

"Mark?" comes Eduardo's voice, muffled. "Mark, can I come in?"

"Wh—" Mark sniffs and sits up, peering at his door. "Yeah," he says sleepily, before stretching up to yawn.

The door opens and Eduardo appears, a hesitant smile on his face. "Did you sleep at your desk last night?" he asks Mark.

"It's no big deal," says Mark, waving him off.

Eduardo walks in and closes the door behind him, before sitting at Mark's bed. Mark turns around from his desk, feeling weirdly distant with all this space between them. Mark's bedroom is more or less the same size as his dorm last year, and it feels too much like the slowness in the beginning of their relationship, treading around each other without knowing that they were allowed to be closer.

Mark opens his mouth and says, "About yesterday—"

"I don't want us to fight," interrupts Eduardo. "I don't like arguing with you. I'd rather us—disagree on movies or something, not something this—"

"Big," Mark finishes, not knowing if he's talking about them or thefacebook. If Eduardo is talking about them or thefacebook.

Eduardo nods. "Right," he says. "I don't—I really like you, Mark, and so this is—it's not a big deal, right?" His face is so earnest and there's a tinge of desperation in his tone that makes Mark's heart twist.

"Of course not," Mark says, mostly to see Eduardo's face relax. "This is—it's just." He shrugs. "It's no big deal," he says, echoing Eduardo's words.

"I want you to be happy," says Eduardo, which sounds a little like an apology so Mark will take it. "And I want—I want to be happy with you too, okay? I don't want you to think that I want any less for you. Or us," he revises.

"Or us," Mark agrees. "Obviously I want the same for you Wardo, so I—"

He breaks off, biting his bottom lip. This would be the perfect time to tell Eduardo that he loves him, but the words are stuck in his throat.

Maybe Eduardo gets the message, because he smiles and says, "So we're on the same page then."

"I sure hope so," says Mark. "Or else we'll have to go through that again."

Eduardo laughs. "C'mere," he says, and Mark does, getting up out of his chair and sitting too close to Eduardo on the bed, looping his arm under Eduardo's. Eduardo leans in and kisses him, soft and pleading, and Mark kisses back. It feels so long even though it really hasn't been; he runs his hand over Eduardo's shoulder, feeling his muscles relax under his palm.

Eduardo makes a whining noise in his throat and breaks off. "I have a class soon, Mark," he says, breathless.

Mark shrugs, rubbing his chin against Eduardo's cheek. "Take a sick day."

"Mark." Eduardo gasps as Mark runs his teeth along the shell of his ear. He actually pushes Mark away, though he smiles and says, "Later."

"Sooner," says Mark, scooting forward.

Eduardo pushes him again. " _Later_ ," he says, grinning. "I'll drop by this afternoon to make up for yesterday."

And Mark feels like that's reasonable, so he says, "Okay."

They do have a fantastic afternoon, and the next day in the morning, Mark has to peel himself away from Eduardo's body when he wakes up. Eduardo makes an unhappy noise from where his face is buried into Mark's mattress—Mark doesn't know why Eduardo stays over here when he has a bigger bed at home—and Mark says, "I'm just getting my laptop."

Eduardo rolls his face over. His hair is sticking in every other direction and one of his eyes is half-closed. "Stay here with me," he mumbles.

"I am, I'm just getting my laptop." Snickering, Mark picks himself up and grabs his computer from his desk, before rejoining Eduardo in bed. "Happy?"

"Very." Eduardo wraps his arms around Mark's middle.

Mark rolls his eyes but lets him, tapping away at his computer and going to thefacebook's about page. On top of them spreading through different schools, several news sources have picked up on their popularity and speed and Chris has been keeping the public up to date. It was Dustin's idea to have the news articles about thefacebook linked on the about page, kind of for them to keep track of the spread but mostly to boast about themselves.

He gets pushed out of bed to go to his late morning class, though afterward he has work, which is only barely a tolerable affair because he texts Erica and Eduardo the whole time while cutting business cards for the front desk. Eduardo finds out when he drops by to pick Mark up and Mark accidentally lets it slip—he'd meant not to tell either of them, because—

"You could've hurt yourself!" Eduardo exclaims, as they walk past the desk.

"But I didn't," Mark points out, holding his hands up. "See? No cuts at all."

"You  _could've_ ," Eduardo insists. "Why do they even let you near sharp objects at all? Especially when you're on your phone."

Mark shrugs. "Because I'm fast with it. I went through, like, six hundred, you should be impressed."

"Impressed," Eduardo repeats sarcastically.

They head down the stairs and walk past a tour group near the entrance of the memorial room. Mark snickers as they pass by.

"We had sex in there," he says to Eduardo, who proceeds to look scandalized.

"Mark!"

"What? That was your idea in the first place." Mark rolls his eyes. "You're the one with a near voyeurism kink, I don't know why you're blaming me."

Eduardo blushes beet red and rushes to cover Mark's mouth with a hand. "I'm not blaming you, just don't go out and saying that kind of stuff in public!" he hisses.

"We nearly did it in public," Mark says behind his hand.

Eduardo's face flushes harder and he removes his hand, silent. He seems to be under the impression that if he stops talking about it, then Mark will stop too.

"Plus," says Mark, "in the Pusey stacks, we—"

"How about we talk about this until at least one of us has graduated?" Eduardo says, strained.

Mark isn't sure if they can get expelled for ruining some books in the stacks, though he supposes that on some level he won't want to test that theory. Plus Eduardo definitely wouldn't want to, so Mark's not going to do it alone.

***

The week heads down its usual path. Mark does interviews for news sources that aren't the Crimson for once, mostly by Chris's urging and after Erica agrees that she'll go along as well. The interviews are during the week and overlapping with his classes, so he tells his instructors that he has thefacebook business to handle, where they usually proceed to either look impressed or irritated that Mark might think he's a big shot or something. Except Mark is a big shot, and a bunch of his instructors are just TAs, so whatever.

Towards the end of the week, he's walking back to Kirkland by himself when he hears an unfamiliar voice behind him going, "Mark! Hey, Mark!"

Mark spins around to see some kid with unruly hair coming toward him. "Uh, hi," Mark says, as the guy approaches.

"I'm Stuart Singer," the guy says through his panting. "I'm in your OS lab."

Mark doesn't recognize him. "Sure."

Stuart Singer straightens up, beaming at Mark. "There's a Halloween party on Saturday at my frat house," he says. "It's Deke, I was wondering if you wanted to come, though I guess since you're the creator of thefacebook, you get invites to parties all the time—"

"Not really," Mark says dryly.

Stuart Singer laughs like he thinks Mark is joking. "Right," he says. "Well, if you want to come it's down on Memorial, so." He fidgets, eagerly awaiting Mark's response.

Mark thinks. "Can I bring my friends?" he says.

Stuart Singer nods so hard it looks like his head is about to fall off. "Yeah! Invite all the friends you want, everyone in thefacebook group!"

"Right," says Mark. "Can I bring my boyfriend?"

The comment breezes by Stuart Singer easily. "Sure," he says. "Does that mean you'll come?"

Mark lets himself think for a second, before nodding once. "Yeah," he says. "I'll be there."

When he gets back to Kirkland, he drops his backpack on the couch. "Thefacebook got invited to its first party," he says to the room at large, which is mostly just Dustin and Chris. He'll text Erica later.

"Nice," says Chris. "Like a college party or a real party?"

Mark rolls his eyes. "A college party is a real party, Chris."

Dustin whoops from his room, where the door is open. "We should've been getting these sooner," he says. "Is it a Halloween party? I'm going to get my costume ready!"

"I don't think we'll need costumes," Mark says, watching as Dustin leaps up from his desk to prowl through his closet.

"Don't try to stop him," Chris advises.

Mark texts Erica, who replies with  _!!_  before  _What should I wear?_  and then  _Why am I asking you this?_ , all within a span of ten minutes. Mark ignores all of them.

Eduardo comes by after his club meeting, fleeting a kiss on Mark's cheek once he's inside. "Hey," he says happily.

"Thefacebook got invited to a party," Mark tells him, as Eduardo winds an arm around Mark's lower backside.

Eduardo's eyes light up. "Really? Wow, congratulations!"

"You're invited too," says Mark, poking his chest. "It's a frat party, a Halloween one."

Eduardo laughs. "Of course, that's what you meant by party."

"See?" says Chris, from where he's watching shark week at the couch.

"Shut up," Mark says, leaning up to kiss Eduardo again.

***

When Mark tells Erica, though, she's excited but has a paper due at the end of the weekend. And then Chris checks his schedule and finds that he has a mountain of reading to do by the end of the week, so it's just Mark and Eduardo and Dustin going to the frat party. Dustin dresses up in a full Chewbacca costume that Mark makes the mistake of recognizing, so the three of them spend the entire walk there talking about Star Wars. Eduardo had deliberated if he should dress up after seeing Dustin, but Mark had told him that Dustin was an idiot and that no one at the party would be in a costume, anyway.

As it turns out, half the party is dressed up; the other half isn't, so both Dustin, and Mark and Eduardo (Eduardo is dressed to the nines, as usual) fit in. They don't find the Stuart Singer guy; but then some kids quickly recognize Mark, shove some drinks into his hands, and then ask Mark about thefacebook, leading Mark to ramble about UX and UI and social networking trends.

"... and it's like, I didn't want to become the next Friendster or anything, users are fickle, if you don't have something that'll make them come back, then they won't come back." Mark peers into his red solo cup. "What is this? Is this jungle juice? Obviously I knew thefacebook would be a big hit, but I have to keep the servers up, you know? Money's what keeps the site running, and—"

"Mark." Eduardo appears out of nowhere, a glass of water in his hands.

Mark downs it and puts it back in Eduardo's hands. "Like I was saying," he says progressively blurrier-looking people, "it's so  _obvious_ , it makes sense, it's not just a school website, but on a global scale—"

"You think you're maybe a little too drunk for this?" Eduardo asks lowly, cutting him off.

Most people have gone outside where someone's started a bonfire, but the small crowd between the kitchen and living room seem interested in what Mark's saying, bouncing between conversations with each other and glancing at him every once in a while.

"I'm fine, Wardo," Mark mumbles, mostly to Eduardo's shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Eduardo says worriedly. "Because if you say something wrong and it ends up in a paper somewhere, Chris is going to be pissed and you'll have hell to pay."

Mark blanches. Chris is terrifying when he's angry, even for Mark—Mark had thrown out his hair gel (by accident) earlier this year and Chris had given him this half-cold, half-tearful lecture about how expensive it was before Mark promised to buy him a new bottle. Chris hadn't let him, of course, but the sentiment was apparently enough.

"Right," says Mark, blinking. "I should—not talk about thefacebook anymore."

"Good," Eduardo says with a smile. Then, to the group of people, "Sorry guys, but as thefacebook's official spokesman, Mark is no longer available for questions or comments."

"But he didn't finish the story!" protests some kid.

"You can read about it in the Crimson," says Eduardo.

"Or," Mark hiccups. "Or the Cornell Daily Sun. We just did an interview with them."

"Or the Cornell Daily Sun," Eduardo says. "Or just talk to him when he's not drunk. Or else he'll probably insult your hair."

"That was one time," Mark whines, as the room begins to leave.

Eduardo rolls his eyes. He drags Mark up, and Mark, unfocused, can see that Eduardo is still carrying the glass of water. They'd left Mark's jungle juice or whatever that was on the couch; Mark watches everyone around them whiz by fuzzily. The music in the kitchen area is loud and pulsating, but gives a nice buffer around his ears.

"Parties are dumb," he says to Eduardo.

"They are," Eduardo agrees.

"But you didn't drink much," says Mark, pushing him. "C'mon, get drunk with me."

Eduardo looks at him with amusement. "Aren't I the designated driver?"

"We didn't drive here, idiot," says Mark. He looks around and spots the counter of drinks, littered with cups and a tall glass of vodka by the side. "Go get something or else it won't be as fun."

Eduardo shoots him a grin. "Okay."

The night goes by in episodes, feeling too slow or too fast for Mark, though he's definitely drunken more than he usually does so it's not a huge surprise. Eduardo gets drunk, too, and has an argument outside of the bathroom with some asshole who was washing some cut out on his palm. "You could've just used the kitchen sink!" Eduardo half yells at the guy who is wild-eyed and shouting back.

Mark tugs him away. "Wardo, don't fight over a bathroom," he says, snickering as they finally leave the guy alone.

Eduardo pouts. He sways on his feet, so Mark holds him steady. "I still need to piss," he says.

"Go outside," says Mark.

Eduardo crinkles his nose. "That's so juvenile. I wonder if there's another bathroom around here." He squints over people's heads.

"I'll be somewhere," Mark says absently, leaving as Eduardo heads in a different direction.

Some time later he finds himself in the house's basement, which reminds him a little of his basement at home except for the way it looks nothing like it. There are a few guys down here, though they recognize Mark and ask him if he wants to join them instead of like, wanting to beat him up or something. Which they shouldn't want to, anyway, because they probably have profiles on thefacebook and Mark can ruin them if they do anything terrible to him.

Mark joins them, sitting half on the fleece rug, half on the cold cement floor. He observes the rug, rolling it through his fingers, soft and ugly. It doesn't surprise him; frat kids are always bound to have terrible taste.

He feels a nudge at his side. "Yo, Zuckerberg," says the guy next to him.

"Mark," Mark says.

The guy's holding out a small rolled up piece of paper that's lit at the end. It takes Mark a second to recognize it as a joint. He blinks.

"Wanna hit?" the guy asks.

"I," Mark stumbles over his own words. "Sure."

He takes the joint and almost puts it in the wrong way, but the guy next to him chuckles and adjusts it in his hands. Mark puffs quickly, before letting the smoke fill his mouth and swallowing it down. It burns, as usual, but it's not too bad. Mark hands off the joint to someone else.

"Like a pro!" says the guy who'd given him the joint. "You done this before, Zuckerberg?"

"Mark," Mark says, again. "I, once, with my sister." He blinks, mouth thick. "Older sister," he says.

"Nice," says some other guy, the one who's smoking this time. Mark watches with wonder as he does, blowing the smoke out in rings a second later. The other guys shout and laugh, calling him a show off.

Smoking with Randi had been boring, mostly because the both of them had passed out shortly afterward. But here Mark feels wide-awake despite his heavy eyelids, and he watches everyone else, gaze flickering from guy to guy in the basement like they're all separate tv channels and Mark can choose at will who he wants to look at next. His phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket, and then the next channel is the screen of his phone, broadcasting,

 _From: Eduardo Saverin_  
_whgere are you?_

Mark giggles, because Eduardo doesn't usually make typos.  _basement_ , he replies. This is like a tv show or something that he can interact with, tell it what to do. Or just tell it stuff and have it send back assent or judgment. That's what phones are, essentially.

He's aware when the footsteps start down the stairs and Eduardo appears, confused and still looking drunk. "Hey Mark," he says to Mark.

"Hi Wardo," Mark says, grinning. "I made some new friends." He gestures behind him.

The other guys greet Eduardo with vague noises, making Mark grin more. Eduardo smiles at them, before coming close to Mark.

"You're happy," he says, against Mark's cheek.

"I'm high," Mark admits, stepping into his space. "You're high—taller, though." He giggles again.

"I am," says Eduardo.

"You should, uh," says Mark. "You should too."

"Be taller?"

"No." Mark snickers into his palm regardless. "Get high, I mean."

"Oh." Eduardo falters a little. "I don't—I've never done it before," he says, glancing behind Mark self-consciously. "I don't know how."

Mark turns around, where a couple of guys are watching them but most of them are chatting away, still passing the blunt around and smoking. "Hey!" Mark says, because he can't remember their names. If they'd introduced themselves to him. "Where's the joint?"

"Zuckerberg wants the joint," says the one guy.

" _Mark_ ," Mark emphasizes, as the joint gets passed into his hands. "Thanks."

He turns back around, to where Eduardo is watching all of them with amusement.

Mark prods him. "Wardo," he says, waving the joint in his face. "Watch me, okay? Like this."

He sticks the back end of the joint between his lips, pursing them carefully. Holding the joint with his palm up and out, Mark inhales quickly and as loudly as he can, for Eduardo to hear. He pulls back and lets it fill his mouth, before gulping it down.

When he looks up again, Eduardo is watching him, dark and unfocused. "See?" Mark says, shoving the joint into his hands. "Now you try."

"Where'd you learn this?" Eduardo asks, turning over the joint with wonder. "Is this what New York is like?"

Mark rolls his eyes and punches his arm, though it's more of a tap with his fist instead. "I learned from my sister a couple of years ago, it was boring," he says. "Go, I wanna see what you learned."

Eduardo rolls his eyes, but he takes the blunt between his lips, which are a bit shiny and wet. Probably from the alcohol, Mark thinks.

Eduardo's mouth is a new channel on its own, white blunt stark as he puffs in and out, imitating Mark from before. Mark watches as the smoke nearly seeps out from his lips, but then Eduardo clamps them shut again, keeping the smoke in before pushing it down. His adam's apple bobs. Eduardo's mouth is watering.

"You did it," Mark says, beaming.

Eduardo hands the joint back to him. " _We_  did it," he corrects, smiling back. "That was weird, I nearly choked."

"But you didn't," says Mark. Some guy comes back for the joint and he gives it to him.

"Wow," says Eduardo. "I feel—wow."

"Yeah, I know," Mark says.

Eduardo sits down and Mark joins him. Eduardo has his knees up and arms folded over them, and Mark presses next to him, feeling happy and unbelievably lucky to be with him right now.

The joint gets passed around again and even though the other guys are smoking together, it feels like just Mark and Eduardo right now, especially with the way that Eduardo watches Mark when he takes his third (and final) hit, and then Mark does the same to Eduardo, eyes hard on the tight way Eduardo draws the joint into his mouth and nothing else. When he's done and they've passed the joint to someone else, Mark leans into him.

"You look really good," he says, stupidly.

Eduardo turns to him. "Yeah?"

"When you smoke," Mark clarifies.

"Yeah," Eduardo says again, with a dopy smile. "So do you."

They giggle and then Eduardo's mouth is on his, and Mark isn't sure what's going on but he's warm and slick and good and Mark leans in. Eduardo's mouth is an endless cavern—sea—of awesomeness, and amazingness, and everything. Mark licks into him, along Eduardo's teeth, the roof of his mouth, feeling invincible just because their mouths are pressed together and Eduardo is making dumb noises into his mouth.

"Oh, man," he hears behind them. "Really?"

"What, you didn't know they were dating?" says another voice. "It was in the  _Crimson_ —"

"They don't have to be doing that down here though," says a third person.

"That's  _gross_ —" starts another.

"Shut up, he made thefacebook," says a familiar voice. Probably the second guy, Mark categorizes, as Eduardo's tongue swipes along his bottom lip, oblivious. "He's allowed to be gay and make out in this basement."

"Maybe I should make some huge website so I can make out in the basement too," grumbles some idiot.

"We can go and leave them alone," says the one non-idiot.

Their voices fade away as Mark and Eduardo make out; they're still in their weird turned to the side positions, though it doesn't bother Mark like he thought it might've otherwise, probably because their senses are weird since they're high. Eduardo licks into him, warm and needy. Mark sighs against his mouth as Eduardo slips his tongue past his teeth, reaching for everything and more.

Mark breaks apart when he's thinking about their breathing and isn't sure if Eduardo's been breathing at all. Eduardo blinks when he pulls back, looking around.

"Where did everyone go?" he says, to the empty basement.

Mark shrugs, wondering how much time has passed between hearing their stupid conversation and now. "They left us alone I guess," he says, smirking. "So we could have sex down here."

"I doubt it," says Eduardo. He stands up and wobbles a bit, pressing his hand against the wall for balance. "Whoa," he says, giggling.

Mark gets up too, holding onto Eduardo rather than the wall so he doesn't fall over. "We _could_ have sex down here," he points out. "We're not alone."

"I'm not going to have sex in some strangers' basement," says Eduardo. " _Plural_ strangers. We don't know anyone here."

"We know Dustin," says Mark. "And, uh. Stuart Singer."

"Who's Stuart Singer?"

Mark giggles into him, gripping onto Eduardo's jacket. "I don't know," he says.

They get out of the basement, which is an impressive feat since all the steps feel bigger than usual for the both of them and they both grip onto the railing and each other, slowly making their way up. Once they're back in the living room, Eduardo starts looking around while Mark whines, getting bored quickly.

He pulls at Eduardo's jacket, getting him to bend down. "We should go," Mark says into the shell of Eduardo's ear.

Eduardo straightens back up; his eyes are heavily lidded and he has a ridiculous smile on his face. "I know," he says to Mark. "I'm trying to find Dustin."

Mark looks around. For some reason it's entirely too easy for him to find Dustin, though it probably has something to do with his Chewbacca costume. "Found him," he says loudly to Eduardo.

He goes over to Dustin, whose mask is gone but the rest of him is still decked in his unnecessary hairy suit. "Hey," Mark says, over the music. "We should go."

"Mark!" Dustin turns to him, eyes bright. "Yo, I was making out with this girl earlier, she was  _British_ —"

"Yeah, yeah," says Mark, rolling his eyes and pulling Dustin along by the collar of his furry suit. "C'mon, Wardo and I are gonna leave."

"Okay," Dustin says happily, walking along. He's clearly as drunk as the both of them. Or high. Or both, like the both of them. Mark's not sure which.

The three of them make their way out, and take the long trek to the train station and getting lost twice, though they make it just in time as the T comes. Eduardo sits with them until some old lady gets on, and then he stands up so she can sit on Dustin's other side. Eduardo holds onto the handlebar above them, and Mark giggles because this is the most ridiculous Eduardo-ish thing Eduardo has ever done.

Mark's sitting mostly behind Eduardo, so he tips forward so his face lands on Eduardo's back.

Eduardo's voice comes, amused. "What are you doing?"

"You are the most Wardo person I know," Mark says into the back of his jacket.

"I'm the only Wardo you know," Eduardo says fondly.

Mark bites at Eduardo's jacket, though it's pretty thick so he probably doesn't feel it. Mark digs his teeth lower until he finds the top of Eduardo's pants, and then bites there again.

Eduardo yelps. " _Mark_ ," he says. Mark grins.

They get to the stop at the Square fine, though Mark doesn't want Eduardo to go and his own bed is so  _small_. If Mark listened to Sean Parker, he could have a bigger bed that he and Eduardo could spend all their time in. Mark wonders if someone's invented a joint bed-and-desk yet.

"Are you gonna go?" Mark asks Eduardo, as they stop at the street corner.

"If you guys wanna have sex," Dustin warns, "you should just go to Wardo's, Mark, really."

Mark turns to Eduardo, who seems to be trying to deliberate over their words. "Do you want to have sex?" Mark asks.

"I," says Eduardo. "Yeah. Okay."

Dustin pushes Mark into him, but neither of them complain about it. Mark falls into Eduardo's arms nicely.

"Go," Dustin says. "You kids have your fun. I'm going to make Chris take this off me."

Eduardo giggles against the side of Mark's face.

Mark calls, "Good luck with that!"

They walk back to Eduardo's, so close together that Mark almost steps on his feet once or twice, sending each other stupid grins at least once a minute like they're sharing a secret even though Mark doesn't know what that secret is. He doesn't know what Eduardo is thinking, either, kind of wants to; Mark just loves Eduardo, that he came to a party that was originally invited for thefacebook. Mark has never considered Eduardo a part of it, though he loves him, and he loves thefacebook, he loves the both of them. These things are hard to qualify, but Eduardo is a person and thefacebook is something he created so of course he can't pick, though thefacebook is something that he can control while Eduardo will always be a mystery to him, new and beyond Mark's control, bigger than that—

"What are you thinking about?" Eduardo asks him. They're outside Eduardo's apartment building. Eduardo is getting the door open.

"Thefacebook," Mark says honestly.

Eduardo beams, which doesn't make any sense. He gives Mark an affectionate kiss on the mouth, though.

"Of course you are," he says. "Up we go."

They ascend the stairs and to Eduardo's apartment, where Mark takes his hoodie off and throws it haphazardly on the floor. Eduardo tsks and picks it up, though he spins around like he doesn't know what to do with it next.

Mark giggles. "You have a closet right there," he says, pointing to Eduardo's jacket closet.

"Oh, right, I do," Eduardo says.

He struggles to put Mark's hoodie away. Mark watches still, giggling.

Eduardo comes up to him when he's done, all in Mark's space. Mark doesn't back down, just unbuttons some part of Eduardo's shirt at random, watching the way the button slips out of its hole and gets free.

Eduardo peers down at him. "Are we going to do this on the floor again?" he asks.

Mark bridges the gap, fingers still on Eduardo's buttons, fingering through the loose hole as they kiss, languid and a bit sleepy. It's nice when they're both high like this because Eduardo kisses him like he's hungry, like there's nothing left on his mind—Mark knows that, but he's also aware of when Eduardo is pressing him forward and almost backs him into a coffee table, when Eduardo is distracted by biting hickies onto Mark's neck and they're still in the living room.

"Bed," Mark gasps against Eduardo.

Eduardo presses his teeth in a little deeper. Mark pushes back a whimper.

"Bed," says Eduardo.

They make it to the bed, trading hazy kisses. Mark is hard but could lie like this, and by the way that Eduardo seems particularly obsessed with Mark's mouth right now, he imagines that Eduardo is like this too. But then Eduardo is taking his own pants off, and Mark gets the idea and shucks off his own, and then Eduardo's fingers are wet and deep inside him and Mark is writhing, coming stupidly fast against both of their chests. Eduardo fucks him slow and oversensitive and even though Mark is too tired to get it up again, he loves it, loves having Eduardo in him, kissing Eduardo from behind as Eduardo thrusts into him from the side, slipping out and spilling loosely onto the bed.

They fall asleep like that, sticky and sleepy. Mark wakes up in the middle of the night to piss, and comes back and pulls the blanket over both of them. Eduardo snuggles into his side and Mark wonders if he could say  _I love you_  to Eduardo while he's asleep, remembering Sean Parker and how that fight feels so long ago even though it's only been a few days.

Being with Eduardo is inevitably the most natural thing in the world. When they wake up again, Eduardo gets up scratching his belly, leaving to the bathroom and coming back in wipe them down, then to nuzzle into Mark's hair. Mark has a ridiculous headache, only slightly hazy from the feeling of still being drunk and a little high. Eduardo is tired and grumpy too, but eventually prods them both out of bed to eat something and drink practically a gallon of water and take aspirin. They lie in bed a little longer together, both of them drifting in and out of consciousness until it's the late afternoon and Eduardo wakes up and says that they should eat real food.

Later, when Mark goes back to Kirkland because that's where his computer is, he feels—off. Both while walking back, and later when he's in his room, steadily quiet and void of another person breathing in the same room as he is. The air around Mark is cold, a reminder and a question of what he's used to and where he'd rather be.

He didn't think since realizing it he would fall any less in love with Eduardo, but falling harder hadn't even occurred to him, when now it looks like there's an expanse of it and Mark doesn't know how deep it goes. This is it, Mark thinks, which is stupid since he's still an undergraduate in college, barely an upperclassman. He can't imagine going through this with someone else, starting all over again, finding out what they're like in the mornings on their best days or the nights on their worst days or in a three-piece suit with beer spilled down their front, trying to look aggravated but mostly laughing and sopping themselves up.

It's terrifying.

***

Thefacebook is no less annoying, though more like a screaming child (if Mark liked children) than an actual thorn in Mark's side. He watches as the server space fills up, paying to expand every once in a while, trying to maintain that balance of promoting to other schools while not straining the memory usage too much. Dustin asks him if he doesn't want to hit USC soon, but Mark says that they should go for it, anyway.

"I'm thinking we should switch to Helvetica," Erica's saying, while Mark is next to her on the couch and Dustin is in his room, door wide open. Chris is on the phone with some journalist, though when he turns and sees Mark, he raises his eyebrows.

"Didn't your work shift start two minutes ago?" he says, pointing at his watch.

Mark glances at the clock at the corner of his computer screen and realizes Chris is right. "Oh shit," he says, closing his laptop just as his email pulled up. "Thanks, I should—"

"Here," says Chris, handing him a hoodie he seems to have conjured out of nowhere.

"Thanks," Mark says again, shuffling it on.

"You're still wearing your pajama pants!" Erica calls after him as Mark heads to his room to grab his things.

Mark swears and changes into shorts before stuffing his wallet, keys, and phone into his pocket and running out of Kirkland.

He gets to the library in under ten minutes, running up the steps and nearly tripping over his feet as he gets inside the building. Carlton is waiting for him in circ, and says, "You're late," but Mark doesn't care; he tosses himself into a chair and catches his breath for a second, before spinning around.

"I'm here," he says to Carlton.

Carlton rolls his eyes and goes to the back.

It's one of Mark's afternoon-late evening shifts, so he checks books in fast at first, still riding on the adrenaline from running here. When he finally calms down, he resumes at a slower pace.

Carlton has left to go out somewhere and some other kid is doing good book/bad book on the shelf behind him. And there's this unspoken thing where their coworkers don't tell their supervisors if they go on other websites while working the back if no one else is around, so Mark waits for another half a minute. When Carlton doesn't come back in, he stops checking in books and pulls up his email again.

It's the usual stuff from his classes, ever since they'd moved thefacebook stuff to another email account, that Chris and Erica mostly handle, unless someone complains about the functionality, in which case Dustin or Mark will usually get forwarded. Mark's eyes scan quickly, but on a second read he catches something that he hadn't caught the first time around.

It's another email from Sean Parker.

Nervous, Mark opens it. He hopes that Sean doesn't complain about Eduardo (despite how much Eduardo might deserve it.) But after the first and second time he reads it, he knows it's not. Mark's hand twitches on his mouse.

"Taking a break?" says Carlton's voice from behind him.

Mark hastily closes the browser window. "No," he says. "Just Sean Parker."

"If Sean Parker isn't going to come in and help you check in books, you should keep that closed," Carlton says, before leaving.

Mark curses that Carlton is so quiet and good at sneaking up on him. He returns to his work.

Sean Parker's email is still in his head when he gets off work, and Mark treks back, barely shivering in the late October weather. He usually stops by Eduardo's for dinner, but he's too excited—he needs to tell Dustin and Chris and Erica if she's still there, right away. Erica doesn't have any classes on Thursdays, so she's probably still in.

Mark walks into the suite. Before Chris can greet him or Erica can scold him for not answering her texts, he says, "Sean Parker wants to meet with us again."

"You mean you," Erica says.

"No, us," Mark says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "He emailed me, saying that he thought our last lunch went well—" and he's not even going to ponder over that, because it's in the past and he and Eduardo are mostly over it "—and he wants to meet up again, he wants to meet  _you guys_."

"Sean Parker wants to meet us," Chris repeats.

"Yes," Mark says patiently. "Where's Dustin—Dustin!"

Dustin jerks his head up from his computer, pulling his headphones off and rushing into the common room. "Sorry," he says. "I was wired in—"

"We're meeting with Sean Parker," says Mark, grinning at him. "Sunday night. Out in Boston."

Dustin stares. "Us? _Me_?"

"Clear your schedules," Mark tells them. "Because you will not want to miss this."

Exhilarated, all of them stay late talking about what Sean Parker might have in store for them, if they should expand to different countries, because Dustin apparently is going out with the British girl he met at last week's party now and thefacebook has been spreading across the U.S., anyway. Mark and Erica are eagerly deliberating about Oxford and Cambridge (while Chris is saying he can probably look into connections for them from Harvard), when Mark's phone buzzes.

He pulls it out; Eduardo's calling him. "Hold on," he says to Erica, before taking it.

"Hey," says Eduardo's voice on the other end. "No dinner tonight?"

"Oh, I." Mark pauses, looking down at his twizzler and beer he'd pulled out for the occasion. "No," he says. "Sorry, I had—something on my mind, I forgot."

"That's okay, I have leftovers," says Eduardo.

He breaks off, something unreadable in the air, over the phone, or something. Then Eduardo adds, "I had something on my mind, too. If you wanted to come over?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," says Mark. He wonders if he should tell Eduardo about the Sean Parker meeting. "I can—I can come over to—"

Erica and Dustin give him weird looks while Chris rolls his eyes. Mark ignores them all while Eduardo chuckles and says, "Right, yeah. See you soon."

"Yeah," Mark says, before hanging up.

"You're going to Wardo's," Dustin says, as Mark finishes the rest of his beer. "To eat his leftovers."

"He made dinner," Mark says defensively.

"You're like a little puppy," Erica teases, and Mark flicks her off before heading out.

Eduardo's door is unlocked when Mark arrives, as proven when Mark knocks and Eduardo calls, "It's open!" Mark walks in, the smell of food lingering in the apartment.

"I warmed it up for you," says Eduardo, shoving a dish into Mark's hands.

Mark rolls his eyes as he sits down at Eduardo's dining table. "If I was later, it could've gotten cold again."

"But it isn't," Eduardo says cheekily, as Mark begins eating.

Mark just presses against him lightly, as he begins eating. Real food is a sudden welcome when his mouth mostly feels like it's been soaking in sugar and alcohol. He doesn't know how many twizzlers he's had since coming home.

He thinks about telling Eduardo about the Sean Parker meeting, maybe that Sean thought that their lunch went well so  _see, he's not as bad a guy as you thought_. But before he can, Eduardo says, "So I said there was something on my mind. If you want to talk."

Mark nods, taking a sip of water already on the table. "Go ahead," he says, as Eduardo watches him, smiling a little.

Eduardo ducks his head down, suddenly looking nervous, next to Mark. He presses his fingertips together.

"So you've been talking about server space," he says to Mark. "And, um, other things to keep thefacebook running."

"Yeah," says Mark, forking at his rice. He doesn't know why Eduardo had given him a fork for his rice. He looks around and then says, "Can you get me a spoon?"

"Top drawer," Eduardo says absently, even though Mark knows where the spoons are. Mark sighs but gets up to get one.

Eduardo continues from somewhere behind him. "So I was thinking I could help," he says.

Mark snorts. "What, did you read  _C++ for Dummies_  in two days, too?"

"What? No." Eduardo frowns, as Mark returns to the table. "I actually, uh."

He brandishes something from his pocket. Mark is starting back on his food as Eduardo passes it over the table, though once Mark gets a good look at it, and does a double-take, he stops.

"I want to help," Eduardo says. "And you're always stressing about money, so I figured—"

"What is this?"

"It's twenty grand for whatever you need," Eduardo tells him, like the check isn't right in front of Mark's fucking face, with fucking  _$20,000_  scribbled on it in Eduardo's giant handwriting, signature at the bottom. "Server space, or—I don't know, whatever else you need for a website—"

"No," Mark interrupts, dropping his spoon and holding up the check. He shows it to Eduardo. "What are you doing this for?"

"For you," says Eduardo. "For thefacebook, for—"

"Is this because you don't want me to go to Sean Parker for the money or help?"

Something on Eduardo's face darkens, though he quickly clears it up by shaking his head. "No," he says to Mark, "although I stand by what I said before, that—"

"If you're jealous or insecure because of Sean Parker, you can just say it."

"I'm  _not_  jealous of Sean Parker!" Eduardo says, nostrils flaring. "I just—I'm trying to  _help_ , Mark, I don't know why you're acting so stupid—"

"Because I know it's just consolation money," says Mark. "You think you can just give me money, and I'll listen to what you think I should do for thefacebook—"

"That's  _not_  what I think!" Eduardo insists. "I'm serious, Mark, I'm just, I just want to help, please, just take the money."

"I like you too much for that," Mark snarls, pushing the check away. A small twinge of regret is in his chest, but—"Twenty thousand dollars, Wardo. You really think I'll accept it just like that?"

"You should! You  _need_  the money, Mark—"

"You're not my sugar daddy," Mark says, rolling his eyes. He even laughs a little; it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth.

Eduardo lets out a strangled noise. "I know—though I wouldn't protest if I was—" he says, and Mark scoffs in his face.

"Okay," he says, raising his eyebrows and going back to his food.

"I have three  _hundred_  grand in my savings account, plus you know how rich my family is," Eduardo says, not even trying to disguise his pleading anymore. "Please take the money, Mark, I swear I don't mean anything else by it."

Mark doesn't look up. "Right," he says dryly. "So I'm going to take your twenty grand and solve all the problems for thefacebook and go out with Sean Parker and let thefacebook explode."

Eduardo's face contorts, but he says, "If that's what you want."

Mark rolls his eyes, shoving the check back. "I don't want—I want you, Wardo, but I don't want your money."

"And I want you to take my money," Eduardo says, pushing it back.

Mark scowls. "I'm going to rip it up, then."

"I'll just write a new check," says Eduardo. He grabs the check back, though, and takes one of Mark's hands, shoving it under his fingers. "Just—please take it at least? And think about it. You don't have to cash it."

"I'm not going to," says Mark. "I don't need your money, Wardo, you have no idea—" He takes a deep breath. "You're not a part of thefacebook."

Eduardo's expression crumbles, but he says, "I know. I'm just—I'm trying to do this for you."

Mark scoffs.

"Why won't you believe me?"

"Because," Mark says. "No normal person, even you, would hand 20k to someone just for them, even if you were a millionaire. And I know you're rich, Wardo," and Mark looks up at him pointedly, "but I also know you're not stupid."

Eduardo's face falls, which is all the confirmation Mark needs to know that he's right. He takes one more bite of his food, before saying, "I'm going."

Eduardo asks, "Are you taking the check with you?" His voice is small.

"Yes," Mark says firmly. "So you won't waste your time and write a new one."

"I really—" Eduardo looks lost, sitting at his dining room table. Mark's chest lurches horribly and he does his best to ignore it. "Mark, I didn't mean—"

"Bye Wardo," Mark says, opening the door and barely waving back.

He stalks back to his dorm, gritting his teeth and letting the fury sink into his brain. The very reasonable part of it is telling him to cash Eduardo's check anyway, because  _twenty grand_ —but at the same time, he knows that for whatever reason Eduardo has, likely the jealousy thing, it'll be wrong. Mark wishes he were a worse person, less in love with Eduardo to use his money. But despite the stress that comes with using money from a minimum wage job, Mark knows that thefacebook will manage; Dustin and Chris have begun to pool in too, with their own work money.

He gets back to Kirkland and doesn't tell either Dustin or Chris about the fight. Erica's already gone, headed back to BU. Mark locks himself in his bedroom and pulls out his laptop and does not sulk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS 9 MINUTES LATE happy belated birthday M*rk Z*ck*rb*rg

_Except when they don't._  
_Because, sometimes, they won't._

 _I'm afraid that some times_  
_you'll play lonely games too._  
_Games you can't win_  
_'cause you'll play against you._

 _All Alone!_  
_Whether you like it or not,_  
_Alone will be something_  
_you'll be quite a lot._

He purposefully does not see Eduardo for the rest of the week. Eduardo drops by to visit him after work, and when Mark sees him he spits out, "I left something in the back," before heading back to circ and waiting for twenty minutes until Eduardo gets the message and is gone by the time Mark comes out again. He doesn't go to Eduardo's and ignores mosts of his texts. One time Eduardo comes by the dorm and Mark is the one who answers the door, before promptly shutting it in his face. He goes back to his room, and when he hears Dustin open the door next, Mark calls, "I'm not here!" and puts his headphones on so he doesn't have to listen Eduardo rapping at his door before giving up.

Dustin and Chris dance around the subject of their fight. The night before their Sean Parker meeting, Erica corners him while they're eating dinner (in favor of having to run into Eduardo) the night before their Sean Parker meeting and says casually, "So, you and Eduardo are fighting again?"

Mark's face immediately pulls into a scowl. He stares at his iced tea.

"Well, I'll take your silence as a yes," says Erica. She picks at her corn, and Mark is weirdly reminded of Eduardo's chicken from what feels like long ago. "You know you have to talk it out—"

"He offered me twenty thousand dollars."

Erica drops her fork.

" _What_?"

"He offered me twenty thousand dollars for thefacebook, and I didn't take it," says Mark. He'd ripped the check into sixteen tiny pieces the night he'd gotten back.

"What," Erica looks at him incredulously. "Why  _not_?"

"Because I know it's pity money, and he's my  _boyfriend_ , not my bank account,” says Mark. "Plus I know there's another some sort of insecure reason he's doing it, he pretty much admitted it when I asked him."

"Mark," Erica says.

"I don't want to take his money because I love him too much, okay," Mark rants, "and I don't want his money, if I wanted it I would've asked for it a long time ago, money doesn't mean anything, and our servers have been fine, so—"

"Mark, I know," Erica interrupts again.

Mark stops.

Erica chews on her bottom lip. "I get what you're saying," she says. "I don't—I think you're doing the right thing, even though it is twenty thousand dollars." She sounds forlorn. "But you should—tell Eduardo all this—"

"I pretty much did," Mark spits, grabbing at his iced tea for something to hold onto. It's cold, and perspires against his palm.

"And what did he say?" Erica says gently.

"I don't know, he's just—" Mark makes a noise of frustration. "Can we talk about thefacebook? Or Sean Parker?"

Erica gives him a look of pity which he hates, but she lets him change the subject anyway.

***

Eduardo comes by the next day, though before Mark can shut the door, he shoves his foot between it and the doorframe.

"I'm not here to apologize or make you take my money, if that's what you think I'm here for," he says. "I just—I miss you, Mark."

Mark looks at him through the crack in the doorway. Eduardo looks tired, hair wet and unruly, shirt wrinkled like he hadn't ironed it before throwing it on this morning. There are small dark lines under his eyes, and Mark's chest twists with something horrible, like guilt and sadness all rolled into one.

"We're having dinner with Sean Parker tonight," he says to Eduardo.

Eduardo twitches, though he nods. "Okay," he says carefully.

"You can stay over, but you shouldn't come," Mark tells him.

Eduardo nods again. "Alright."

Mark lets him in, pushing the door open and then going back to his bedroom. He doesn't hear Eduardo follow him; when he turns around, he sees that Eduardo is looking lost like he doesn't know where to sit or what to do.

Mark lets out an impatient huff. "You can come in here," he says to Eduardo.

Eduardo does, looking warily at the door until Mark huffs again and says, "You can close it, too." He picks his laptop off his desk, yanking back his whiteboard where he's splashed down more ideas as he sits on his bed.

Eduardo sits next to him, distant at first. Mark taps away at his laptop, but when it seems that Eduardo isn't going to come any closer until Mark does something about it, Mark sighs before pressing his side into Eduardo's.

A desperate noise comes out of Eduardo's throat. He practically throws himself around Mark, clutching at around his shoulders, burying his face into Mark's neck. He's warm and big and Mark's chest tightens at this. The loneliness of the past few days finally hits him with Eduardo wrapped around him now. Eduardo rubs his face along Mark's shoulder, and even though Mark has his computer open on his lap, he's more focused on Eduardo clinging to him, so tight like he thinks that Mark might go. Mark feels it when Eduardo's chest vibrates with a deep shudder, still clutching at him.

He's like that for a long time, though when it seems that he's calmed down, Mark switches gears and redirects his attention to thefacebook. It's a bit harder to type with Eduardo like a jellyfish around him, but Mark has missed this— _him_ , even though it's only been a few days. Summer hadn't been anything like this. Eduardo presses his cheek against Mark's shoulder and watches him code, and Mark can feel his steady breathing, so close as Mark works.

Mark keeps an eye on the clock, even though he doesn't want to leave Eduardo here, doesn't want to leave Eduardo. When it hits five, Mark closes his laptop and says, "I have to get ready for dinner."

Eduardo nods, pulling away.

Mark watches him carefully; the sunlight is near disappearing from Mark's window. "You can stay here," he says.

"Okay," says Eduardo.

Mark starts towards his bedroom door. "I'll tell Sean you said hi," he says, turning back.

Eduardo's face looks pinched, but he doesn't protest, just nods.

Mark heads outside, where Dustin and Chris are already gathered in the living room. They're meeting Erica in Boston, since it's pointless for her to come up here and then go back in the opposite direction. When they see Mark, Chris asks, "Ready?"

"Yeah." Mark shrugs, shuffling toward his flip-flops.

Chris lets out a pained noise. "Mark," he says, but Mark ignores him and double checks his pocket for his wallet and phone and keys.

Dustin looks between them. "Did I hear Wardo earlier?"

"Yeah, he's in my room," says Mark.

Dustin and Chris stare at him. "What?"

"Do you think he'll want to—"

"He doesn't want to meet Sean Parker," Mark says curtly, cutting Chris off. "He's fine. Let's go."

As they head out, Dustin casts him a worried glance. "Are you guys okay?" he asks.

"We're fine," Mark says.

On the Red Line, they talk mindlessly about thefacebook and what Sean Parker might want, though they still look at Mark weirdly like he's a bomb set to explode at any moment. Which he isn't, because they're about to have dinner with Sean Parker ( _again_ ) and it's going to go even better today.

Erica is waiting at the station as planned, and the four of them walk out into the city together. The restaurant is too many blocks away and both Mark and Chris prefer taking a taxi, but Dustin says it'd be cheaper if they walk. Erica agrees with him.

"Sean's going to pick up the check anyway," Mark says. "He did last time."

Erica rolls her eyes. "It's not that far a walk, Mark. We can stretch our legs for a bit."

Sean is already there by the time they arrive. He greets all of them with enthusiasm, even kissing Erica's hand, though she just crinkles her nose, looking torn between disgusted and amused. "Nice to meet you all," Sean says, and waves his arm toward the other side of the table. "Sit down, sit down."

They all do, Mark at one end, Erica between him and Dustin with Chris on the other. Sean asks some perfunctory questions about their classes before their food arrives; he'd evidently ordered before they'd come.

Sean is no less charming than he had been during lunch with Eduardo, smiling the pants off of Chris who looks both wary and polite at everything Sean says. Erica just laughs a lot, like she thinks everything Sean says is a joke. Dustin is as starstruck as Mark, hanging onto every word about the parties down at Stanford and L.A., clanking his glass against the rest of theirs eagerly, widening his eyes when Sean mentions off-hand the number of his friends who had become millionaires.

He retells his Napster episode before launching into his story about Plaxo—"I mentioned it to you last time, Mark, don't forget," he says, waving his small fork at Mark, while Mark and Erica and Dustin listen, enraptured. Mark is pretty sure Chris rolls his eyes a few times by the way he doesn't interrupt Sean's story with any questions.

"I wanted to do it nice this time," Sean says seriously. "So I put on my tie and shined my shoes, but nobody wants to take orders from a kid. So let me tell you what happens to a twenty-year old at the top of a hot dot-com—"

He leans in, voice going undertone. "They'll hire private detectives who follow you day and night. You're a target for high-priced escorts. And I can't prove it, but I know they tap my phones. Whatever it is that's gonna trip you up," he pinches his fingers together for emphasis, "you've done already."

Mark nods. Erica finishes the rest of her appletini. Dustin perches his chin on his hand, and Chris furrows his eyebrows but doesn't say anything.

"Private behavior is relic of a time gone by," says Sean. "And if somehow, some way you've managed to live your life like the Dalai Lama, they'll make shit up." He stirs his drink. "Because they don't want  _you_ , they want your idea. And they want you to say thank you while you—excuse me—wipe your chin and walk away."

"I'm not sure if that's an analogy I'd like to hear while I'm eating dinner," Chris says wryly.

"Apologies," Sean says, smirking.

"That's what happened to you?" Mark asks.

Sean doesn't look up as he continues stirring his drink. "Yes," he says. "But, there'll be payback with Case. I brought the record companies down with Napster, and Case'll suffer for their sins, too."

"So this is what you've been doing for the past five years or so?" Chris says. "Getting sued?"

"Gaining a reputation," Erica corrects. "You gotta admit, that's some pretty impressive stuff."

"Why thank you, Erica," Sean says graciously, and Erica looks like she's straining from rolling her eyes. "It's where things are  _happening_ , Christopher. The next big things. You know what's the great thing about thefacebook?" he says, gesturing to the four of them.

"That it's run by three guys and one girl," Erica says sarcastically.

"It's that all of you are so young," Sean says. "This is your time.  _Our_  time. Silicon Valley is made for kids like you, not the old guys who've made their retirement money there.

"Let me tell you what I would do. I would ask myself: where do I see thefacebook going? Forget about classes and work. Forget about traveling halfway across Massachusetts to work on your business," he says to Erica. "Forget about it all, just think about you and the future: What are you? What is _facebook_?"

"It's bigger than us," Mark realizes. Saying it out loud makes it feel more real—that somewhere out there, at least a hundred kids are discovering thefacebook for the first time and are signing up right now. That at the same time, there are other kids uploading pictures of some party they're at, or teachers inboxing each other about illicit affairs, or that even in this restaurant, at least one person has an account.

"It's bigger than all of us," Mark repeats, the words slipping out. Than him and Erica and Dustin and Chris—even Sean, who's grinning at him from across the table.

"Exactly," he says. "What are you doing in school? In  _Harvard_?"

"Well, it's Harvard," Chris points out.

"Harvard doesn't have a website on fifty of the biggest schools in America.  _You_  do." Sean waves his spoon in Chris's direction. "And you know what? I could get you onto two continents, if you want."

Mark's heart nearly stops. "You—what?"

"Two continents," Sean repeats. "I heard you guys were talking about expanding to Europe—" Erica and Chris had done an interview earlier this week "—and with my help, I could make it happen."

"With your help," Chris says.

Sean shrugs, twisting his spoon around. "Hey, I'm just a fan who came to say hi. I want to help you guys out. Put you up there with the real players."

"We're not real players yet," Erica says.

Dustin elbows her. "But we could be," he points out, and as Sean smirks, Mark privately agrees.

The rest of the conversation passes by in a blur. Eventually, Sean asks them about their progress since he and Mark last met, and Dustin bursts with everything they've been working on, no less eager than Mark. Sean seems impressed, telling them that they'd get even bigger in California, where everyone else is.

He picks up the check, then waits as Mark, Erica, Dustin, and Chris get up to follow him to the door. Erica and Chris have another argument about taking a cab back as they walk back out into the October breeze.

Sean stops and turns back to Mark. "I have one more piece of advice," he says. "Drop the 'the.' Just 'facebook.' It's cleaner."

He leaves.

Mark and Dustin watch him disappear into the night.

"Shit," says Dustin.

"I know," Mark whispers.

They walk to the station again, to Chris's chagrin. "What did you guys think?" Mark asks, to where Erica and Chris are leading the way.

"It was... interesting," Chris says, voice thin. "Sean is a character."

"He's really something," Erica agrees. She looks contemplative. "All that stuff Sean said about moving out to California, though. Isn't that a bit fast? I mean, we are all just kids."

"We're almost done with our degrees," Chris adds.

"But he was right about the—facebook," Mark points out. "It's not just Harvard anymore, it's almost the whole country."

"What about Eduardo?"

Mark's chest pangs at the mention. "He's graduating," he says to Chris.

"So will I," Chris says. "I do want to work for the—facebook too, Mark, but I don't anticipate working for it my whole life, I'm going to want a degree if I'm going to do something afterward."

"You could finish it in Stanford."

"But I accepted Harvard for a reason, Mark."

They talk off and on about the—facebook, and California. Erica seems as interested in the idea of moving out west as Mark is, though Dustin keeps gushing about meeting Sean Parker and  _two continents_  (which Mark thinks is pretty awesome, too) while Chris mostly wavers. Mark can read him, though; he's as excited as the rest of them.

"I'm not really sure about Sean though," Chris says, on the ride back. Erica's going in the other direction, so they'd said goodbye before getting on the green line. "He's—I mean, not to rain on your parades or anything," he says to Dustin and Mark. "But while I don't really think he's full of shit, necessarily, don't you guys think he seemed a little... paranoid?"

"You have to be paranoid to survive in the real world," Dustin says seriously.

"You really don't," says Chris. "And he's delusional. I mean, really? PIs? Tapping his phone? I don't think anyone cares about Sean Parker  _that_  much."

"Well a lot of people in Palo Alto hate him, probably," says Mark.

Chris hums. "And he still hangs out there."

"He doesn't let the  _man_  get in the way of his success, Chris," says Dustin, punching Chris on the shoulder. "Lighten up."

"I'll lighten up when you stop referencing the School of Rock to me."

They get back to Kirkland safely, the night less chaotic but no less louder, being the weekend. Mark drops his keys on the mantelpiece and opens the door to his room.

Eduardo is curled up on his bed, face tucked into Mark's pillow and on top of the comforter. Mark's heart twists painfully as he watches Eduardo's sleeping form, almost soundless in the room. He almost feels bad for telling Eduardo he couldn't come earlier, though he knows that Eduardo wouldn't have wanted to come, anyway. Eduardo's still in his jacket from earlier, like maybe he'd fallen asleep as soon as Mark had left. Mark wonders how much Eduardo's slept over the past few days—if he's slept at all.

His heart does that painful thing again.

He goes quietly to his desk, turning his desktop and laptop on, cringing when the bright light floods the room and the monitor powers on with a loud ringing note in the room. He hears a shuffling behind him, and hopes that Eduardo hadn't woken up from it. He starts up his programs, ignoring the feeling in his chest.

It only takes a few minutes before Eduardo's voice comes out from behind him. "Mark?" It's soft and hesitant.

"Yeah," Mark says, voice too clear in the room. "I'm just gonna work on some stuff."

Eduardo is quiet. Then, "Do you mind, uh, can you do it from the bed?"

Mark stops from where he's typing. "Yeah," he says again, and then he's picking up his stuff and carrying it across the room.

Eduardo makes some room for him on the bed, so Mark is resting against his legs, feet hanging in the air awkwardly off the side. "Do you want me to turn down the brightness of my screen?" Mark asks.

Eduardo's head shifts in what sounds like he's shaking it. "It's okay," he says.

Mark works while Eduardo lies on his bed, maybe watching him (Mark doesn't want to look), one hand at the hem of Mark's shirt, not rubbing underneath but just holding onto him, like he's trying to hold the closest piece of Mark to make sure he's there. Mark types for a bit.

"We're changing the name," he says to Eduardo. "Dropping the 'the.' So it's just 'facebook.'"

Eduardo nods. "That sounds like a good idea."

"It was Sean's," Mark blurts.

Eduardo's hand stills for a moment from where he's touching Mark. Then he relaxes again and doesn't say anything else.

Mark doesn't notice that Eduardo's nodded off until he yawns and looks at the clock and figures he ought to squeeze in some sleep before class tomorrow. When he looks at Eduardo, his eyes are closed and he's breathing softly through his mouth. Mark shuts his laptop and joins Eduardo, burrowing into the side of his jacket and pulling the comforter over the both of them.

***

Eduardo seems better the next day, regarding Mark with bigger and more confident smiles, laughing when Dustin makes fun of them for being  _too_  quiet in Mark's room last night. They get food from the fridge, then Mark has class and Eduardo says he feels grimy in his clothes, so they both leave Kirkland at the same time. When they split, Eduardo drops a kiss to the corner of Mark's mouth, eyes crinkling with a smile before he leaves.

And then like that, it's like everything is better again. Mark goes to class and texts Eduardo the whole time and Eduardo scolds him but always replies anyway. Mark has lunch with Erica later and tells her that he and Eduardo are okay again, and she raises her eyebrows but says, "Good." Eduardo texts him to say that he'll be in the library to work on his thesis during Mark's shift today, and Mark thinks about when he'd ignored Eduardo last week in the library so he just texts back,  _cool_.

He clocks in his four hours, feeling lighter as he makes his way out of the back. He goes into the reading room but can't find Eduardo anywhere, so he texts him,  _where are you?_

 _Study alcove_ , Eduardo texts back.  _East side._

Mark finds him in a plush arm seat and sits down in the one next to him. "I didn't know this was here," he says.

"And you're the one who works here," Eduardo says, amused, and Mark ignores him in retaliation until Eduardo elbows him with a grin.

Mark alternates between actual work and dicking around, while Eduardo works beside him, reading stuff and chewing on his nails, or typing at a ridiculously leisurely pace that Mark resists the urge to make fun of him for. Mark's head feels heavy after a bit; he hadn't gotten much sleep last night, mostly because he'd stayed up so late and partially because Eduardo had so many clothes on that it was warm enough for Mark to feel sleepy but too warm for him to actually fall asleep.

He finally drops off, fingers still on his keyboard. The next thing he knows, he's blinking his eyes open to something crisp and nice-smelling underneath him, making minuscule movements like a conscious effort not to move so much as to wake him.

Mark licks around his dry mouth. Eduardo doesn't seem to know that he's awake, or doesn't acknowledge it, at least.

"How long did I fall asleep?" Mark mumbles.

"About twenty minutes," Eduardo answers, unbothered.

"Mm." Mark picks himself off Eduardo's shoulder and yawns, blinking at his computer now. Eduardo watches him with a small smile on his face.

Mark thinks about telling him about yesterday and California. But he and Eduardo had just barely made up yesterday, and it'll create a mess again. Eduardo hasn't apologized yet—Mark nearly expects him to, now that he's not ignoring him anymore—but Eduardo either thinks it'll make things bad between them again, or that his non-apology is in one in itself. Mark doesn't really know what he prefers, but it is nicer just working here with Eduardo and smiling at him every once in a while and going out for ice cream, afterward.

Everything's not as easy as picking everything up and moving to California, Mark knows. That's the other side of the country, and while at this rate he can probably afford a plane ticket from Boston to L.A.—plus his parents, who'll probably give him real money now that they know how serious Mark is about facebook—it's the middle of the semester, and Mark does technically have only one year after this left. But, at the same time, it'd taken him less than a year to actually set facebook up. He could miss a lot for another fifty-two weeks.

He brings it up with Dustin and Chris. Chris still seems set on finishing his degree, but Dustin is already sold on the idea.

"This is  _huge_ ," he says to Mark, over pizza and beer that night. "Facebook, California—do you think we could get a house there?"

"If we piled all our money together," Mark says. "Plus, if Erica comes out with us too—"

"She would hate it." Dustin seems gleeful at the prospect. "Sharing a house with three guys, it's like a chick's worst nightmare."

"And interns," says Mark. "It's way too much for just the four of us now, we'll need to hire them. And pay them," he adds, frowning.

Erica swings by the next afternoon, and Dustin and Mark relay their thoughts to her. She seems on board with the idea of California, even though she rolls her eyes every time one of them brings up Sean Parker, "He's an act," she says, after Mark insists that she'd been pretty impressed with what he'd said to her at dinner. "I don't really trust guys like that with a grain of salt."

"Exactly," Chris says from the couch.

Dustin tosses a wadded napkin at him. "Shut up, party pooper," he says.

Chris jolts and scowls.

"But you'd want to come to California with us," Mark says to Erica.

She shrugs. "For an extended amount of time, yeah. I mean, probably just during breaks so I can finish school—"

" _Exactly_ ," Chris says again.

Dustin throws another napkin at him. Erica continues, "I like working for facebook, but do we have enough money? To go out to California and live and everything?"

"Sean has money," Dustin points out.

But Mark shakes his head. "No, he doesn't," he says, because he's been emailing with Sean lately; both of their typespeak has disintegrated to shorthand and informal chat. "He's broke."

Erica sends Mark a look. Mark thinks for a moment that she's going to bring up Eduardo's twenty-thousand dollar check, but instead she says, "What we need is a CFO."

"Oh! Yeah," says Dustin. "I could do that too, since I'm an econ major—"

"You're not, you're still VP and chief programmer," Mark interrupts, and Dustin looks pleased. To Erica, he says, "You have an idea."

"Yes," Erica says. "Eduardo should be our CFO."

It takes Mark less than half a second to say, "No."

Chris shoots his head up; Dustin says, "What? So quick, Mark?" He looks at Erica. "I agree with you—when I first asked Mark on, I thought Eduardo was already his CFO."

"He  _is_  a business major." Erica gives Mark one of her annoying all-knowing looks.

"Economics," Mark corrects. "And no, I don't want Wardo as part of this company—"

"Because you're dating him?"

"—because if something happens between me and him, I don't know how it'll affect facebook," Mark says, though the thought of something happening between the two of them makes his heart clench. He feels too big and too small—this is ridiculous, he's never been in love before, he's not supposed to find someone he wants to stay with forever in college.

"If something happened between you and him, he'd probably step down from facebook," Dustin says reasonably. "He's that kind of person."

His logic is irritating Mark.

"And he has money," says Erica, still with that look.

"No," Mark says firmly. "So if we're moving to California, when are we going to go?"

Thankfully, Dustin immediately latches onto that subject, though Erica keeps looking at him like  _that_  and even Chris is watching him carefully, like he's trying to figure Mark out when there's nothing to figure out. Despite that, Dustin and Erica manage to persuade Chris to come out for the summer at least if they're out there by then, and Erica and Chris can come back in the fall to finish their degrees.

Dustin and Erica say that they can get started in the winter at the very least, and if Mark and Dustin aren't going to finish school, they can leave after this semester. Mark likes the idea of it, leaving right for California after the fall, but—

"I don't know what to do about Wardo," he admits. They've gotten some of their ideas scribbled down on his whiteboard in the common room. Chris is alternating between working on an essay and listening to them.

Erica rolls her eyes. "What about him? I'm not listening to you saying that he shouldn't be CFO, you know, he'd be good—"

"I already asked him about his opinions in the past, and he wanted us to put up ads to start getting revenue." Mark makes a noise of disgust.

"Well," Dustin says diplomatically. "We will need to put ads on it eventually—"

"But not now," says Mark. "Eduardo's not going to be our CFO, he'd want to finish his degree, too."

"He's graduating in the spring, isn't he?" says Erica. "He can come on then."

" _No_ ," Mark stresses, though he does think about Eduardo graduating. "He's—Oh shit, you're right."

"That he should be CFO?"

Mark glares at her. Erica looks at him innocently. "No," Mark says. "But he'll be here through the spring. What if..."

He trails off. Dustin, Erica, and Chris look at him expectantly.

"What if what?" Chris asks.

Mark steers himself toward his bedroom. "I need to think," he mumbles, shutting the door behind him.

He knows he's right about not asking Eduardo to come onto facebook, no matter what Erica says. And Mark wants to do what's best for facebook, but he also wants to stay with Eduardo—he doesn't want to up and leave him, even if they attempt to do long distance, because during those days when he'd shut Eduardo out, Mark had felt like a different person, and he didn't like that feeling. The deep vast feeling in his chest is too strong and focused on Eduardo. Mark can't imagine compromising that even for facebook, for anything else in the world.

***

Erica's birthday is on the first week of November, according to her facebook profile, so she invites the four of them to BU's campus to celebrate. Mark gripes about stepping onto BU's campus though he goes anyway, putting up with Erica's punches along the way.

Dustin and Eduardo and Chris hand her gifts on the train. Mark stares at them blankly.

"I forgot a present," he says without thinking.

Dustin bursts into laughter, while both Eduardo and Chris give him long-suffering looks and Erica begins to open Dustin's amused.

"It's okay," Erica says. "Your presence is enough."

"Of course you forgot to bring a gift," Dustin says, cackling.

Mark scowls at him. "I'll pay for dinner or something," he insists.

Erica smiles at him. "The thought is appreciated," she says, "but seriously Mark, it's fine. I didn't even expect these guys to give me presents too."

"Does that mean I can take the silk scarf back?" Eduardo asks.

Erica pulls his present closer to her body. "Are you kidding me? I've wanted a silk scarf since I was fourteen."

They go out and eat, chatting merrily and walking through Boston University's campus and then some, Erica showing them around. They pass by Fenway Park and that starts off a conversation about baseball, which Mark knows about but doesn't really care, and Eduardo neither knows much or cares, so the other three talk while Mark and Eduardo stroll along in silence.

Mark figures that the unspoken request of not mentioning California to Eduardo had passed onto the others; none of them had brought it up over dinner. He thinks about telling Eduardo—he's going to have to at some point—but he doesn't know how to say it, and he doesn't know when, anyway.

Eduardo smiles at him. He takes his hand from his pocket and slips it into Mark's. "This is nice," he says.

And the way his mouth curves under the gentle honey-colored light; the way his hand is so warm in Mark's grasp is surreal, unimaginable. "Yeah," Mark finds himself saying, smiling back.

Erica takes them back to her dorm and introduces them to her roommates, who say hi and seem to like them enough. One of them is as into math as Eduardo is and they start up a conversation, except she likes imaginary numbers and metaphysics that Mark can't help himself from jumping in, too. Erica and Dustin and Chris talk to the other one (Mark can't remember either of their names; one of them is Danielle and the other one is Diana, so he'd pretty much given up from the beginning) about whatever, until it's getting late and they have to get back to catch their train.

They say goodbye and start off. Erica asks what they think and Mark has to admit that her roommates seem pretty cool, even though he'd only exchanged about five words with the other one. Erica seems happy though, and it's her birthday, so Mark bites back any less than fortunate comments he has to say at all.

On their way to the station, Mark, Dustin, and Chris have veered off into a conversation about work while Eduardo and Erica are talking something about comparing Boston to Miami, when some voice behind them says, "Erica?" Then, after that, "Wait, is that Mark Zuckerberg?"

The five of them spin around. There are some kids down the street, most of them looking awestruck at Erica (and Mark) and then another going, "Is that Chris Hughes and Dustin Moscovitz too?"

"They know my name," Dustin whispers excitedly to no one.

"They know our names," Chris points out, though he's smiling.

Erica greets the kids who'd called out to them, probably their age or younger or something. "Hey Jeff," she says. "And yeah, you got us all in one. Plus Mark's semi-famous boyfriend." She gestures to Eduardo, who rolls his eyes.

"What's up?" the kid says eagerly. "Oh, and why did you guys change the name of—"

"We did an interview with the Crimson if you wanted to read it," Mark cuts in. "And the Bridge." That had been Erica's idea.

"Oh, right," says the kid, nodding.

"It's my birthday tonight," Erica says good-naturedly. "Any of yours?"

She fronts at first with the non-facebook related questions, though another kid brings up the Poking thing and the schools that they're tackling next because she has friends in Canada (Dustin answers those) and if things are true or not in the interviews they've had (Chris answers those) and just the general apparently awesomeness of the website. Erica nudges Mark at this until he says thank you, genuinely meaning it until one of the kids suggests new features and asks, again, about Poking. Mark decides right then and there he's never going to take away that feature, though one of them reiterates a suggestion for games that Dustin had mentioned a few nights earlier.

Mark isn't really aware of how long they stand around talking about facebook until his periphery catches Eduardo still standing at his side, wearing a smile but looking bored.

Mark clears his throat. "So," he says, to the kid who's trying to get him to explain the Poking (which, seriously. The about page exists for a reason.) "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

Eduardo snorts and the kid looks at him with confusion.

This seems to get Erica's attention, who glances at her watch and says, "Oh shit—you guys are gonna miss the T! Bye," she says to the kids who'd stopped them, as Dustin and Chris pay their goodbyes too and they jog off.

Erica sees them off right as they clamber into the carriage, barely making it before the doors close. Dustin exclaims, half out of breath, "That's the first time someone's ever recognized me!"

"They only recognized you because I was with you," Mark reminds him.

"That was cool though, you have to admit," Chris says. "You're just used to it already. It's new for me and Dustin."

Mark rolls his eyes.

"They should've recognized you, too," Chris adds to Eduardo. "Dating Mark. Putting up with him."

"Hey," Mark says, as Eduardo laughs.

"It's okay," he says. "I don't put up with Mark, and dating him is enough attention I need."

"Aww," Dustin coos, as Mark feels the heat flame up his face. "That's so sweet. And, oh! Mark likes sweet stuff."

"Shut up Dustin," Mark grumbles.

They get off at their stop, though Mark hesitates before telling Chris and Dustin, "I'm spending the night at Wardo's." They say goodbye to him cheerfully, before heading off.

When they're alone, Eduardo grins at him. "You are?"

"Unless you kick me out," says Mark.

Eduardo doesn't; it takes until Mark has followed him into his bedroom before Eduardo is on him, kissing him, needy, hands on both sides of Mark's face. Mark pushes back into him, sparks shooting down to his dick like electric currents, filled with a warmth that makes him shiver at all the ends of his body. He slips his tongue into Eduardo's mouth and Eduardo sucks on it, making Mark moan.

Their clothes are barely in the way with how they blindly strip them off each other, Eduardo sucking down Mark's neck and across his collarbone as he gets Mark's shorts down. Mark pulls away to yank his hoodie off; Eduardo whines at the reveal of skin and goes back to marking him, making Mark arch back and gasp.

Later he is fingering Eduardo open, Eduardo's body long and gorgeous stretched across his bed, on his stomach as Mark watches him twist and turn, three fingers knuckle deep. Eduardo gasps out, "Please, please, Mark," and he is red-faced and dark-eyed and husky that his words barely register in Mark's brain, until Mark says, "Yeah, yeah, okay."

He slips into Eduardo easily, Eduardo turned over on his back so Mark can see his face, the best thing in the world as Mark fucks him. Eduardo is tight and scorching around him and keeps telling Mark to go harder, until Mark clings to his shoulders and fucks him so hard that he nearly sees white when he comes.

Eduardo strokes his arms through it, voice deep and soothing as Mark comes down, panting. Mark's soft but puts his hand around Eduardo anyway, watching as Eduardo clenches his eyes shut and comes in only a few strokes, across the both of them.

When he's done, Eduardo looks up at him, grinning. Mark doesn't know why, but he's grinning back, and for some reason they burst into laughter at this, all over each other.

"Why are we laughing?" Eduardo asks through his giggles.

Mark's face is pressed into Eduardo's chest. He feels sober and in love and happy. "I don't know," he says, thinking  _I love you_  instead.

He cozies up to Eduardo and falls asleep before he can say it. In the morning, he texts Erica,  _had on-your-birthday sex. thought you should know._

 _TMI,_ is all she sends back.

Things feel good and perfect and Mark thinks  _this is it_ , not for the first time and, he hopes, not for the last time, either. He has Eduardo and he has facebook, and they're going out to make facebook big in California after Eduardo graduates, and it's going to be good. Mark makes a mental note to tell Dustin and Chris that he's decided when he gets home, though he fires off a text to Erica in case he forgets. It's what feels right—he can scrape by on all his classes and watch Eduardo graduate, and then after that—well Eduardo doesn't talk about what he's going to do afterward, so he can come out with them.

He thinks this all through as he lies in bed while Eduardo is in the shower. When Eduardo comes back, toweling his hair, he says, "Hey, you're awake."

"Hi," Mark says.

"Breakfast?" Eduardo suggests, and it sounds like the best suggestion in the world, so Mark says yes.

He gets dressed and follows Eduardo, sitting at the dining table as Eduardo patters about, pulling out dishes and plates and food. Mark watches, unable to hold back a smile. Eduardo turns to him as he opens up his refrigerator, and catches Mark staring.

"What?" Eduardo says.

Mark shakes his head, ducking his head down. "Nothing," he says, to the table.

He hears a smile in Eduardo's own voice as he asks, "Cereal or eggs?"

Mark's mental separation of Eduardo and facebook is the backup plan, Mark realizes; but just watching Eduardo make breakfast in his kitchen makes Mark want there not to be a backup plan. He doesn't want to keep them apart, his fast-paced project and his—best friend, really, his boyfriend. The line between best friend and boyfriend is running as thin as the line between Eduardo and facebook. He thinks about Erica suggesting making him CFO again. He thinks about asking Eduardo what he's doing after he graduates.

Eduardo comes to the table with two bowls of cereal, handing Mark's chocolate-flavored one while putting a spoon in his more boring flavored one. Mark begins eating. The realization that Eduardo had gone out to buy his preferred brand of cereal just—makes this more real. Everything.

"We're thinking of moving facebook out to California," he says, as Eduardo starts on his food.

Eduardo nods, chewing. "That's smart," he says. "Palo Alto, right? Where all the big VCs are."

His reaction surprises Mark. "Yeah," Mark says, taking a spoonful of his own cereal. "It'll be good, facebook's too big to just work from Harvard these days."

"Yeah, and by the time you graduate, having an internet presence will probably be even more popular to college kids," Eduardo agrees.

"I'm not graduating," Mark says, and his words—Eduardo's words—fall together in his head.

Eduardo stops. "What?"

"I meant," Mark says. "Facebook's moving out to Palo Alto next year. In the summer, preferably," he adds.

"What?" Eduardo says again.

Mark shrugs, blinks. "That's it?" he tries. "I don't know what else to say."

Eduardo lets out a humorless laugh, confusing Mark even further. "You're going out to California at the end of this year?"

"This school year," Mark says, because Eduardo's probably just not understanding him. "Facebook's traveling, Wardo, you just said it yourself, for all the VCs—"

"So you're moving to California just for facebook," says Eduardo.

His tone is unreadable. Mark stares at him.

"Yes?"

"And you're not—" Eduardo rifles a hand through his hair, before letting out that same, horrible laugh. "I don't know what to say to you, Mark."

"I don't know what you're trying to say," Mark says, furrowing his eyebrows. "One minute you were all for facebook moving out, and the next thing—"

"Yeah, because that was before you said that you were moving for facebook and without me!"

"I wanted to move at the end of the school year," Mark says desperately, "so I could—"

"Do you know why I gave you that check?" Eduardo cuts in. Mark stops, words dying down in his throat. "Do you know why I gave you twenty thousand dollars, Mark? It's because you've been—facebook's been—" He wrings his hands, and Mark thinks stupidly,  _he's jealous of a website._

"It's because I felt left behind," Eduardo says, and Mark's suspicion feels right and wrong all at once. "That with you, and Erica, and Dustin and Chris, I'm just—"

"You're just what?" Mark demands, fury rising up his throat. "That you're just my boyfriend? Wardo, what do you even think I think?"

"I don't know!" Eduardo laughs again and it's wet and Mark wants him to stop, stop, stop right now, this is all so wrong. "You don't let me give you money, you listen to Sean Parker and not me—"

"Because he knows people, Wardo, you know that."

Eduardo carries on like Mark hadn't spoken. "And it's just like I don't know if you're with me anymore, or even want to be with me—"

"I do," Mark says, hurt. "I do want to be with you, Wardo."

Eduardo smiles thinly at him. "Then why are you moving out to California?"

Mark makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "For  _facebook_ , jesus christ, Wardo, it's not about you, and I wanted to—"

"It's not about me but you're leaving me," Eduardo says, a stupid sad smile on his face that Mark just wants to wipe off. His ears are ringing with white noise, and he just wants to go back to earlier this morning when he felt so  _sure_  about everything, last night, this past week—

And he thinks about asking Eduardo to be CFO to make him shut up and stop being so stupid, but Eduardo says, "I know you care about facebook more than me," and Mark knows without thinking that mentioning anything about Eduardo coming on would send the worst, the wrong message.

"I don't," says Mark, and the accusation makes his chest twist something awful, a heart wound. "Wardo, how can you even say that?"

"I don't know," Eduardo says. "Maybe because you're going to move across the whole fucking  _country_  for it?"

"That doesn't mean I—" Mark pleads. "Wardo, I don't—I don't—I  _love_  you—" and it sounds all wrong and Mark can't take the words back now, can't reel them back in, and shit, shit,  _shit_.

Eduardo laughs, hollow and wrecked. Both his and Mark's cereals are soggy in their bowls; Mark's milk is an ugly shade of brown.

"I don't know how you expect me to believe that Mark," he says, "when it seems like you're trying to leave me—"

"I'm  _not_  trying to leave you!" Mark cries, voice low and embarrassingly high. His eyes are prickling suspiciously, and he does his best to push the sensation back. "I wanted to move facebook out to California after you graduated, and then—"

"And then what?" Eduardo demands.

"I don't know," Mark says weakly. "I don't know what you're doing after you graduate—what are you doing after you graduate—"

"That's the thing," Eduardo says, severely, terribly, making Mark's chest hurt so much that he feels like he might throw up. "You want me to pick between you and your website or—what? Doing what I want to do for my own future?"

"I—No—" says Mark, though something is sinking in his chest,  _yes, yes, that's exactly what it sounds like._  "I don't want you to—"

"Or are you not thinking that far ahead and want to leave me anyway?"

" _No_ ," Mark says, as loudly as he can. "Wardo, I'm not trying to—"

"So why are you leaving Harvard as soon as I graduate? Going all the way to California and expecting me to come along or ditching me?"

Eduardo's eyes are hard and red and Mark opens his mouth, trying to find the words to say, even though his throat feels sore from pushing back every urge to do something else. He just wants Eduardo to—he  _loves_  Eduardo, and now Eduardo being CFO sounds like the most glorious thing in the world, but Eduardo would just push him away, and—

"If you're going to break up with me eventually," Eduardo says, and he's quiet this time, "then I don't know why we shouldn't do it now."

Mark swallows three times and his head hurts from push push  _pushing_  everything back and the image of Eduardo half blurs in front of him.

"I  _don't_  want to break up with you," he says, cracking on nearly every syllable. "I—Wardo—I don't know what to—I want—I  _need_  you—"

"Evidently you don't."

"I do," Mark pleads. "I need you, I love you, please—"

"Then would you not move facebook out to Palo Alto?" Eduardo demands. "Would you—"

"I wouldn't stay in Harvard just for you," Mark can't help himself from saying, even though he knows that this is twisting the knife in further and  _why can't this be easy?_

"And I'm not going to go out to California just for you and facebook," says Eduardo. "So I don't know what the issue is."

Mark stares at his wet mushy cereal. "I don't want to break up with you," he says to it.

"I think you should leave," Eduardo tells him quietly.

Mark blinks, and his mind goes numb.

He stands, abrupt.

"Fine," he says. He scowls as hard and dark as he can, twisting up his face until it hurts.

"Be stupid," he says to Eduardo. "Tell yourself your stupid fucking lies and impose your insecurities on me. I don't care. If you think I want to break up with you, then that's your own fault." He storms toward the door, wrenching his sandals on.

"I don't have time for this," he says, facing the door and twisting the knob. "I have a website to run."

***

He doesn't remember the walk back to Kirkland; all he can hear is a roaring in his ears, the rush of anger at Eduardo, for  _facebook_ —jesus, it's just a website, Mark wants to tell him, it's just a website he wants to move out for—but he already told him, and Eduardo is so fucking stupid, and it's not Mark's fault. It's not Mark's fault.

Mark gets back and Dustin and Chris are in the living room. Dustin asks, "So how was last night?" like he doesn't expect an answer, and Mark ignores him, storms to his bedroom and slams the door, head and heart pounding with everything and  _I love you_  and Eduardo's broken expression.

Mark whips his laptop open and wishes he'd grabbed a beer, even though it's the middle of the day. He needs it though, by the way his fingers automatically click to facebook, and then he's on Eduardo's profile, staring and scrolling down.

It doesn't have a lot of updates. Mark hasn't really kept track of it before, but he reads down Eduardo's wall, where it's just his first post and then one from Dustin that says,  _dude are you coming to class today_. Mark seethes and places his cursor in the text field, fingers on his keyboard, fury tingling through his end nerves.

He eyes narrow; his back is righted similarly to his posture he's fencing and thinks of what to write.  _You're a dick_ , or maybe something about how Eduardo has an STD or worms or something. But Eduardo has other friends on here, and someone from the Crimson might see, and then Eduardo's parents—Mark's heart lurches at the idea of ruining Eduardo's career, reputation, anything. He types something out and isn't sure if he can go with it and closes the window.

He takes a deep breath and sighs. Eduardo thinks he'd want to leave,  _is_  leaving, when just maybe an hour ago Mark was thinking the complete opposite. He is exhausted and frustrated and imagines really leaving Eduardo, right to California while Eduardo continues on with his life here, without Mark, and Mark without him.

Mark's shoulders crumble. His spine has felt like a bow straightened and ready to fire and now—now he wants to lie in bed and not think about facebook or Eduardo or anything.

His feet are mechanical and carry him to his bed. Mark sinks down, lying on his side and curling up, trying to drive his mind somewhere else. He closes his eyes and hears Eduardo shouting, hears _himself_  shouting, sees Eduardo's face dry and red and bruised like he's been waiting for this for a long time. He should have said something, Mark thinks. Mark should have—no, Eduardo should have said something. It is not on Mark's shoulders.

He lies there for a while until Chris knocks on his door and asks him if he wants to eat lunch. Mark remembers that he had never finished breakfast and that his cereal is probably still in Eduardo's apartment. Eduardo probably poured it down the drain.

Mark's stomach rumbles, and he says yes.

***

He does not sulk for the rest of the day. He has work the next day, and it's boring because his phone doesn't buzz with any text notifications, and Mark is bored to tears staring at the library catalog and fixing incorrect call numbers on book spines and putting stickers in. For some reason, Carlton had given him the second most boring job today. Mark thinks for a moment that it's divine retribution, until he remembers that it's not his fault and he doesn't believe in that sort of thing, anyway.

Erica comes by that afternoon for facebook, so Mark's not surprised when he returns to the suite and sees her on the couch. He is surprised, however, when she looks up at him and asks, "What's up with you and Eduardo?"

Mark looks around for his suspects. Chris is carefully reading a magazine and Dustin is on his computer, so it's hard to tell who the tattletale was.

"It was Dustin," Erica says, to Mark's unanswered question. "He texted me yesterday saying that you came back from Eduardo's looking like you were going to kill someone."

"But you didn't!" Dustin says, when Mark swivels around to him.

Chris has his eyes raised above his newspaper with interest. Mark clenches his jaw.

"We just had a fight," he says through his teeth. "That's all."

Erica nods slowly. "That's all."

"I told him about California," Mark spits before they can ask more intrusive questions.

A look of understanding dawns over Erica's face. "Oh," she says. "And he didn't take it too well—?"

"Can I be excused?"

Mark doesn't want for a response. He goes to his room and shuts himself in, even though usually when Erica's over it's easier for all of them to be gathered in one room. He sits at his computer and whips his laptop open, bringing up Eduardo's profile page again.

It's been over twenty-four hours since they'd last spoken—since their  _fight_ , Mark's brain supplies for him unhelpfully. Eduardo's profile looks the same.

His picture is one that Mark had taken with Eduardo's phone. He'd told Eduardo that he was a terrible photographer but Eduardo told him to go ahead anyway, so Mark had gone off and taken a stream of photos until Eduardo had laughed and told him to stop. The one Eduardo had decided to put up was the one that Mark liked the best, one of ones where he was looking at the camera and laughing at Mark to stop.

Smiling at Mark.

Mark grinds his teeth together and closes the window. Yesterday had been stupid and a waste of time; he shoves his headphones on and wires himself in. He mostly fixes up the bugs, but he has a few other half-assed projects he'd started ages ago and over the summer, and he finds everything he could possibly work on and drowns himself in code for god knows how long. Code and code and code and code and code code code code code facebook code facebook code code code  _Wardo_  code—

***

Someone is shaking his shoulder. Mark's face is sore, and also like someone branded his cheek with a checkerboard. He blinks. His mouth tastes like too much sugar and boogers at the same time. He licks his lips and makes a face.

"Mark," says Chris, somewhere far off. Mark realizes that his headphones are lopsided on his head. He slips them off.

"You fell asleep at your desk." Chris looks worried. "Are you okay? What did—"

"I'm fine," Mark says shortly, rubbing at his mouth and making a face. "What time is it?"

"It's four," Chris says. "In the afternoon."

Mark furrows his eyebrows; he had definitely had only been coding for less than an hour, much less passed out then. He checks the clock on his computer, but realizes that the date says it's Tuesday; yesterday—whenever he'd started coding—had been Monday.

"Shit," says Mark, stumbling up and knocking at least twenty things off his desk. "Shit," he says again, piling it all up and dropping them on his desk. "Where's my—phone—"

"Did you go to class at all today?" asks Chris, as Mark searches his room desperately.

"No," Mark says, checking his bed. Fuck. "And I didn't go to work, fuck, shit—"

"Does this have something to do with Eduardo?" Chris asks, as Mark stops in the middle of the room.

He feels at the sides of his pants, before slipping his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. His phone is there, bright and lonely.

Mark whips it open, finding three unread text messages from Carlton. He texts back,  _Sorry, slept through my shift, I can take any extras for the week_. He checks his inbox. There are no messages from Eduardo.

His insides wring together and he shoves his phone back into his pocket. "No," he says to Chris, not looking at him.

Chris stays in his room instead of getting the fucking message and leaving like he's supposed to. "Are you sure?" he says. "Because you seem like you're—"

"No," Mark says again, louder. "I'm fine, Chris."

"Eduardo's—"

Mark shoots him a look.

Chris sighs, but backs out of Mark's bedroom, his hands raised. "Okay," he says. "I'm leaving." He does.

Mark huffs, before turning back to his computer, still open with all the things he'd been working on yesterday and last night and this morning and however long it had been until he'd passed out. Where he'd dropped off is a long string of F's and mostly gibberish, but as he clicks around, it looks pretty good. Pleased, Mark searches his harddrive for any other half-finished projects.

He doesn't quite sink into it as much as he had yesterday, mostly because he  _does_  have work tomorrow night, and tomorrow morning when Carlton texts him back with a list of the needed circ shifts for the week. Mark decides that it's best for him to take all, even if he'll be bored out of his mind. He'll be making more money, and it's not like he'll spend any more time with Eduardo over those days, so between classes and the small amount of time devoted to outside of class schoolwork, he stacks his schedule up with library shifts.

He's punctual for the rest of his shifts that week. On Thursday, he gets a follow-up email from Sean Parker, and Mark tells him, right there, that he _is_ going to California. Whether with Eduardo—or likely not, says the loud voice in his head—it's where facebook is headed, if facebook is going to stay as big as it is. Get even bigger.

Sean's reply is that afternoon and enthusiastic, when Mark is still at work and mostly spends his breaks in the cafe eating candy and drinking energy drinks and ignoring the judging stares behind the counter. Mark doesn't give him details of when and how, though; he feels that waiting till the summer would actually be easier and feel more complete. But another part of him wants to just leave after this semester, take back what he'd told Eduardo and just go without looking back.

But that would be  _breaking up_  which Mark had said—Mark doesn't want it. He doesn't, when Eduardo flits in his brain, the thought is accompanied with a painful throb in his chest and he feels like crushing something between his fists. Mark cracks his knuckles until it occurs to him that if he breaks his fingers, he won't be able to code. So he stops that.

Mark thinks viciously of deleting Eduardo's facebook profile, or hacking his email, or doing something—he doesn't know. He gets drunk on Friday night and has his laptop open and is about to break out a perl script and do something surely brilliant and stupid, when there's a loud knocking at his door.

"Mark!" yells Erica's voice.

Mark is more than halfway tipsy. His fingers are tense on the computer keyboard, and he ignores the noise.

"Mark!" Erica shouts again.

Mark types in Eduardo's student email to the textbox and stares at it.

"Get the emergency key out," says Erica's voice, which jerks Mark out of his daze as he stares at the door.

It hurtles open with the force of Erica, Dustin, and Chris toppling in. Chris has his hand on the doorknob, the other dangling the emergency key for their bedrooms (the one they usually keep under the fireplace, since they're not allowed to turn it on.) Dustin and Erica are wild-eyed, as Mark backs his chair away from his desk.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks, as Dustin straightens himself up.

Erica wrenches herself away from the two of them. She glares at Mark. "Well after you didn't answer the door for thirty minutes—"

"We thought you hurt yourself or something," Dustin says bluntly.

Both Erica and Chris elbow him and he whines, "Hey!" rubbing at his sore spots.

Mark glares at the three of them. "I didn't hurt myself," he says. "I was just—I'm hacking." He gestures to his computer.

None of them seem to care. "Mark, we're worried," says Chris, his face doing that annoying guilt thing that he's always good at.

Mark turns away from him, going back to his computer. "I don't care," he says. "I've got more important things to do."

"Do you really?" Erica asks. "You haven't—Are you even working on facebook from here?"

"Yes," Mark says immediately. Then: "No."

"And you were in here for twenty-four hours on Tuesday," Dustin adds. "I remember that, I kept knocking at your door and I thought you were just out the whole time, until Chris told me he came in."

Erica's voice drops into something gentle, and Mark  _really_  hates how they're good at this. "Mark, we know something happened with you and Wardo," she says. "You can tell us, you know. We're your friends."

"I already told you," says Mark. His throat is filling up with something, and he makes himself swallow it down. "I told him about Palo Alto and we had a fight."

"Did you break up?"

Mark stares at his computer screen, where his cursor is blinking alongside Eduardo's email address. "I don't know," he says, and his voice sounds empty.

There's a pause, and Mark's own words ring in his head. He wants this to be over, he wants whatever it is with Eduardo to be done, if they are breaking up—he wants to skip this part, the painful part, and move on. Move onto facebook and being a  _billionaire_  and rubbing it in Eduardo's face, becoming someone Eduardo wishes he was proud to know.

But Mark would not be proud of that person he would become, that person who has moved on without Eduardo after telling him that he loves him. Mark swallows again.

"You've been avoiding us all week," Dustin says, finally. He pokes Mark in the shoulder. "You didn't even say hi to me at work."

"Sorry," Mark says, meaning it. "I was—Work—sorry."

Dustin turns him around. Mark watches as his chair spins to face the three of them.

"Don't be sorry," says Dustin. "At least, to me. Chris here was pretty offended though."

"I was not," Chris says.

Mark looks between all of them. "I didn't mean—" he says, fumbling over his words, still drunk. "It was just—I needed some time alone."

"That's okay," Erica says. "We know we're not Eduardo, but we still care about you. We're your friends, you know."

Mark smiles a little at her, despite scoffing. "Did you really just say that to me?"

"Hey," says Erica, smiling back. "Just because it's trite doesn't make it any less true."

They leave him alone after a bit, Erica saying that she has a paper to work on anyway and Dustin procrastinating with his studying to check on facebook and Chris actually free and playing Halo on their tv. Mark keeps his door open so he hears it when Dustin gets distracted enough by Chris to join him.

Hacking into Eduardo's email feels a little silly now. Mark closes it, sobering up when he does. He goes to facebook, though the reminder of Eduardo and California still hurts. He ignores it.

***

Over the weekend, he eats in Kirkland dining hall with Dustin and Chris, mostly because he's been living off library cafe food and the candy and drinks stacked up in his mini-fridge, so it's been a while since real food. Dustin and Chris don't ask about Eduardo, or really bring up California at all; all talk about facebook is limited to schools and functionality, and then Chris complains about getting an 89 on a test and Dustin tells him that beggars can't be choosers and Chris tells him he's using that idiom wrong.

Being alone is too much for Mark, silence big and eerie in his bedroom when he pays attention to it, when he's not neck-deep in code and other things to make him not think of Eduardo. He comes out and works with Dustin and Chris, and it's not the same but at least it's better. They make the weekend tolerable, even though it reminds Mark that it's been a week since he's last spoken to— _seen_  Eduardo, not even attempts like the other time. He wonders if Dustin or Chris or Erica, who swings by Sunday night and vandalizes Mark's whiteboard with a game of hangman against Dustin, have seen or hung out with Eduardo at all.

He doesn't ask even though he's itching with curiosity; if they said yes, he'd want to lose himself in alcohol and stupid choices again, and if they said no, he'll just feel guilty. If anything important happens, they'll let him know.

He curls up in his bed and tries not to realize how big the bed feels, even though it's just enough for a single person to sleep on. It is cold and Mark misses sex and another body squeezed behind his and warmth. He slinks his hand into the front of his shorts and jerks off, choking back a sob when he comes.

On Monday he goes into work again, earlier than anyone else because it had been harder for him to sleep. That's one less person for him to be around—and there are less things for him to do. There is a truck of books to be sorted into good book/bad book, so Mark does that until Carlton comes in.

"Are you at a good stopping point?" Carlton asks, after he's put his stuff away and Mark is nearly down the truck.

Mark checks the call number of the last book before putting it back and says, "Yeah."

Carlton gives him new books to sort through, along with the covers, to organize for the different Harvard libraries. Mark sits down and gets started right away, wishing his phone would buzz sometime between to distract him and slow him down.

Carlton watches him for a minute. "Did you do that entire good book/bad book truck this morning?"

Mark shrugs, not looking up. "I got here early."

Carlton lets out a low whistle. "That's impressive," he says. "Are you okay, though? You don't look well."

Mark does his best not to slam the book in his hand on the table. That would be the immature thing to do, and this guy pays him and is probably asking out of the goodness of his heart. "I'm fine," he says, and Carlton leaves him alone after that.

Dustin comes in a few hours later, greeting Mark along the way. When Mark gets off an hour later, Dustin stops him and asks, "Hey, wanna meet up for lunch when I get off? There's this new vegan place downtown I wanna try out."

Mark blinks. He traces back his schedule in his head; his class gets out before Dustin's shift ends. "Sure," he says.

"Sweet," says Dustin.

After class, Mark meets up with him back at the library, and they head downtown. Dustin talks eagerly about all the complicated choices on the menu while Mark settles for something simple. They order soda so they don't embarrass themselves and get carded.

"Mark," Dustin says seriously, when that's over.

Mark has a sinking feeling Dustin's going to ask him about Eduardo.

"Star Wars or Star Trek?"

Mark is relieved, even when that eventually peters off into the inevitable topic of facebook. They deliberate potential new schools, practicalities, pricing, and moving to California, what kind of house they would get. (Mark brings up the idea of a pool, which Dustin's all for.)

Dustin says casually, "Do you know what Wardo's doing after graduation?"

It's so sudden and out of nowhere that Mark starts a little. Dustin is making his vegetarian fajitas and Mark thinks over the question, and Dustin.

"No," he says honestly.

Dustin looks at him, a little astonished. "No? He hasn't decided yet?"

"I mean he hasn't talked to me about it," says Mark, thinking. All the frustration rises up again in a millisecond. "And he'd gotten angry at me for asking—wanting him to come with us—"

"Settle down, Mark." Eyebrows pulled together in worry, Dustin puts his fajita down and looks Mark over carefully. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"Yes," Mark says immediately. "Because Eduardo's being so stupid, so if you want to tell him how—"

"I'm not going to tell him anything," Dustin says. He winces at his own words. "I—Mark, don't you think you're expecting a little too much from him?"

"I didn't ask you to bring up Wardo so you could tell me I was wrong."

"I'm not," Dustin says hurriedly. "I just don't think—Try seeing it from his perspective."

Mark grits his teeth, clenching his fork in his fist. "I don't know what his perspective is."

Dustin raises his eyebrows. "See?" he says, sounding entirely too smug.

Mark watches as Dustin returns to making his fajita, humming as he puts peppers on it. "He told me he was feeling left behind," Mark says. "That I made him feel—that facebook made him feel—that I listened to Sean Parker instead of him."

Dustin glances at him but doesn't say anything.

"He's so  _stupid_." Mark stabs at his own food with conviction. "I love him, why can't he see that? I'm  _not_  leaving him behind."

"I mean," Dustin says, with the tone of a man who spends too much time building up logic to refute Mark's otherwise convincing arguments. "With the action of leaving to California, even if we do after he graduates, that does look sort of—"

"It's for  _facebook_ ," says Mark, tired. "I don't know why I'm talking to you about this, I already told Wardo—"

Dustin looks up again, looking more serious than Mark's ever seen him before, and Mark has watched him play Halo for five hours straight before.

"Do you see a future with him?" Dustin asks.

Mark stares, wondering how Dustin figured that out.

"Yes," he says, honestly.

Dustin waves his fork in Mark's face. "Then tell him that," he says, before setting it down and turning his fajita around. "Now—how the fuck am I supposed to eat this—"

Dustin's words feel partially like a revelation, and partially really stupid advice, because Eduardo had never asked so he must not have been interested, and even if he was it's not like Mark is obligated to tell Eduardo that he can't see a future wherein he and Eduardo move in and adopt two point five babies behind a white picket fence or something.

***

The next day at work drones on as slowly as all the other days, Mark staring at the computer screen and wishing for anything on his phone, something angry from Eduardo, something nagging from his parents, anything. He does still need to interview interns to come to Palo Alto, though with the deadline of winter recess approaching quick, he highly doubts that anyone is going to have time between Thanksgiving break and the weeks before finals to do some sort of hackathon or whatever for facebook. Their living room is getting cramped, and they really ought to move servers sometime soon.

Mark's hand clutches around his phone as he checks in book by book, not sure if he wants it to go any slower or faster. He remembers Erica's words on Friday, something about friends sounding ridiculous in his head. But—

_So, house, pool. Y/N?_

He puts his phone away, feeling dumb, especially if Erica has a class or is busy right now. With Eduardo it wouldn't matter, but Erica hadn't—doesn't like him as much as Eduardo did—does— _did_.

His phone vibrates less than five minutes later, though.

_Y!! also you should buy a trampoline_

Mark feels himself smiling, starting to type out,  _I am not buying a trampoline for you_ , as he checks in another book. He waits for Erica's reply but it comes again, just as quick, and Mark spends the rest of his shift texting back and forth with her, happier and more distracted.

She isn't better than Eduardo; spending nights watching Dustin blast things on Halo and having Chris laugh at either of them when they fuck up and curse loudly is no match for Eduardo stressing about his thesis at Mark's side. It is not better, but it is—for now, Mark decides—better than staying alone in his dorm and having to listen to only the sound of his own typing, his own breathing, and no one else's.

He keeps thinking about Dustin's words and his own that he didn't know what—that he doesn't know what Eduardo is thinking, really. A part of him is telling himself that that doesn't matter, but Mark knows that's selfish and untrue—it does matter, when he and Eduardo are (were?) in a relationship. It matters when he wants Eduardo to believe him when he says that he loves him, that when he is horny and aching he only has the company of his own hand and imagines Eduardo licking into him, kissing his mouth and any other part of his body, saying it back. It matters when Mark comes and it's just not good enough, not good enough when there isn't Eduardo's orgasm to watch or wait for, when there is no body to curl around or curling around him afterward, that there are no smiles to see or laughs that follow, when they're done.

It matters more than Mark can ever imagine, that he still thinks about Eduardo coming out to California with him after he graduates—Eduardo being  _CFO_ , of this company that he is not yet a part of, but can be; something that Mark can say is  _ours_ , not just  _mine_. It makes Mark hurt everywhere with how much he wants it, when his mind drifts away just enough and it's all he thinks about.

Thanksgiving break comes quicker than he wants. Mark says goodbye to Chris and Dustin when he leaves; some ridiculous part of his brain wants to open the door and see Eduardo there, waiting for him, to say goodbye; when he gets to the station, Eduardo, coming up to him like they do in movies, with a half-apology that Mark will return in full.

Eduardo is not at his front door and Mark boards the train alone without saying goodbye to anyone else. He arrives in New York and greets his family and tries not to feel too alone without—Eduardo, or his friends.

Neither of his parents or sisters treat him any differently; they don't even ask about Eduardo, though if Mark seems any different to them, they don't make comments about that, either. It weirds Mark out, and he doesn't know why.

It comes to him later that night when he's crouched over his laptop in bed and eating jellybeans (a good portion of his family hates them, and they'd gotten some as a gift from one of his dad's patients, so the jelly beans all mostly go to him. Except for the green ones. Ari likes the green ones.) Mark clicks around facebook, both to make sure the speed is fine, and because it's facebook.

On his own profile still says  _In a relationship with Eduardo Saverin_. Mark blinks—it surprises him. He doesn't know why it surprises him.

He goes to Eduardo's profile, and yep, that's still there, too:  _In a relationship with Mark Zuckerberg_.

Mark doesn't know why; "it's complicated" would be more accurate. Mark doesn't know why they even have that option. He thinks about changing his own, though then Eduardo's profile would change from  _In a relationship with Mark Zuckerberg_  to just  _In a relationship_. He might not like that.

Mark grits his teeth. No, Eduardo wouldn't notice at all. He probably forgot to update his facebook profile or whatever. He barely comes on anyway; nothing about his profile since Mark last checked it has changed. It is as boring and inactive as ever, the stupid fucking  _In a relationship with Mark Zuckerberg_  still there, and Mark wants to delete Eduardo's profile, since he doesn't use this site anyway,  _Mark's_  site that he tried to give Mark twenty fucking thousand dollars for.

He shuts his laptop before he does something stupid. Breathing heavily through his nose, he grabs for another handful of jellybeans and stuffs them into his mouth.

This is a bad idea, as one of them is black licorice and fills Mark's mouth with a vile taste. He runs to the bathroom to wash his mouth out.

This break is no different from the last. Mark refuses to help out with the turkey, lets his sisters drag him out to some nearby carnival, and breaks a wishbone with Donna, grinning when he gets the bigger half. He wishes and they bet that he wished something for facebook, though he refuses to tell them, even when Randi tries to bribe him.

"You don't have the money," he says to her. "Besides, if I told you what I wished for, it won't come true."

Randi rolls her eyes. "You already hit a hundred thousand members for facebook, Mark."

He texts Erica and Dustin and Chris too; Dustin sends him a picture of him and his cousin with facepaint, while Erica says that she already has Mark's Hanukkah present ready and Chris complains about the mass of family members that have gathered at his house for the holiday. Mark tries to guess what Erica's present is and tells Dustin that his cousin is cuter than he is and sends  _rofl_  at Chris's expense.

He wonders what Eduardo's break is like. He doesn't even know if Eduardo had gone back for break at all, Mark realizes, staring at his ceiling. He finds that he wants to know—wants to ask. He wants to know what Thanksgivings with Eduardo are like, Hanukkahs and being together when it's still snowing and when rain season comes and when it's sweltering hot out that Mark will turn up the AC and make his parents or anyone complain about the electricity bill so he doesn't burn to death. Eduardo probably doesn't care too much about Hanukkah but would get Mark a present for eight days anyway, would buy a pre-roasted bird for Thanksgiving, would talk about the weather with excitement and joy and drag Mark outside and put sunscreen on him, lotion afterward when Mark inevitably burns.

Mark rolls his face into his pillow. He jerks off because that's the only option he has. Not talking to Eduardo will not help anything—that is what the past two, three weeks have been. The reminder of what he's had, and what he will lose if he lets this string fray out and wither. Mark's heart twists and he thinks, for the millionth time,  _I love him_.

***

Break is over too early and too soon. Mark goes back and expects to relax for a little, but then they get slammed with interviews from at least twenty different school newspapers. Apparently that they're moving to California had leaked out, and now everyone wants to know what this means for facebook.

He gets stopped by a Crimson reporter on his way out of circ one day, like the reporter had known that he was working this shift. That doesn't surprise him, either; he'll have to talk to Carlton about maybe changing his schedule by the week. He doesn't mind interviews, but getting randomly harrassed is something else.

He half listens to the question and replies, "We know we'll move facebook out to Palo Alto at some point, we're just not sure when." He pushes his way past. "Now can you move?"

The guy starts saying something, but Mark's eye catches sight of—

Eduardo, by the staircase. He looks frozen in place, like he'd been ready to go down but something had stopped him. He's facing Mark's direction, and for a split second their eyes meet.

Then Eduardo vanishes down the stairs.

Mark swears, pushing the annoying Crimson reporter aside and hurries down the stairs. Eduardo's not at the bottom, and when Mark comes out of the building, panting a little, Eduardo isn't anywhere in sight.

Mark whips out his cellphone. This is feeling more and more ridiculous by the minute.

 _can we talk?_  he taps out, and then presses  _Send_.

He waits. After a minute, there is no reply.

After five minutes, there is no reply.

After thirty minutes, Mark is still standing on the steps of Widener library and his phone has not buzzed once.

Mark balls his hands into fists and walks to class instead. In the middle of it he gets a text, but it's just Arielle telling him that their mom wanted to tell him that she found one of his shirts in the laundry. Mark waits for a text from Eduardo all day, but it doesn't come.

Finals are coming up. After that is winter recess, and Mark highly doubts that he'll be able to make it through four weeks away without—he doesn't know. It's already been nearly that long. It's December.

***

Every day that passes is over too soon, yet feels so slow all at once. Mark watches the seconds tick by, probably working too slowly. Chris has come up from ILL, and Dustin is doing good book/bad book and hates it as much Mark does, so he's stalling by talking to Chris. Mark checks in a book from preservation.

Impulsion overtakes him. He spins around in his chair. "Do you think I should talk to Wardo?" he asks them.

Chris actually rolls his eyes.

Dustin says, " _Duh_."

"He doesn't want to talk to me," Mark says, scowling at the both of them.

"Then make him want to talk to you!"

"I don't want to make him do anything," says Mark. "I just—I wish he'd understand, and I want him to understand me."

"That's a step up," Chris encourages.

Mark scowls some more, because he doesn't need Chris's encouragement. "Should I just—tell him that I'm sorry?" he says. "That facebook exists, that—anything?"

"I don't think you should tell him you're sorry that facebook exists," Dustin advises. "Maybe what we talked about last time, huh?"

Chris's eyes dart between them. "When did you talk about what?"

Mark feels himself blush. He tries not to, anyway. "I'm not sure if that's going to—"

"Mark, I'm pretty sure that if you tell Wardo that you wanna fly up to Canada and get married, he'll understand," Dustin says.

Chris squawks, " _What_?"

"I don't want to get married," Mark mumbles, his efforts not to blush proving feeble. "Yet. I just—"

"Tell him what's going on in that crazy head of yours," says Dustin. He actually comes over and gives Mark a noogie, until Mark elbows him in the balls. "Ow—tell him that you're—"

"Thanks, Dustin," Mark says dryly. "I got it."

Chris says, "Gay marriage has been legal here for seven months."

Dustin claps his hands. "There you go," he says to Mark, though he's still bent forward and hovering over his crotch.

"Get back to work," Mark says, rolling his eyes.

***

He doesn't know how to get to Eduardo—catching him in public is going to be hard as Mark is pretty sure Eduardo's changed up his route schedule so they can't accidentally run into each other anymore. And texting him for his attention has proven to be hopeless. Plus, Mark has five more interviews scheduled for the week on top of everything else, so as much as he thinks about what to say, everything just piles up in his head.

On Thursday he decides to try to find time to talk to Eduardo on Friday; and on Friday he decides to try to talk to him on Saturday. On Saturday he puts it off so late that his thoughts are eating away at him at one in the morning, and he tells himself that he has no more excuses left when he wakes up.

So he blinks awake to the mid-morning sun with, _tell Eduardo how you really feel_ , echoing in his head. It's thoughtless, almost robotic as he gets out of bed, picks up his phone and dorm keys and leaves the apartment without seeing if Dustin or Chris are awake. The space that Eduardo had once occupied is aching now, and Mark is not going to leave this hanging without Eduardo knowing just how much he wants— _needs_ him.

When he's outside Eduardo's apartment building, it's a painful reminder that it's been four weeks since this. Anything having to do with Eduardo. Pulling out his phone, Mark hopes desperately that Eduardo hasn't blocked his number and will at least answer him or else Mark will just have to proclaim his love via shouting outside his window, like in a cheesy 80's movie.

_can I talk to you? I'm outside your building_

Mark looks up and waits. There—Eduardo's face appears briefly between his window and curtain, a flash before it's gone. Mark's heart stutters in his chest even at that. He taps his fingers anxiously against his phone in his pocket, waiting for a response.

His phone doesn't buzz, but the front to the apartment building opens. Eduardo steps out, in pajama pants and a dress shirt.

"You're here," Eduardo states.

He looks worn. The bags under his eyes are heavy. Though Eduardo's hair is rumpled like he'd just woken up, or he's been in bed all day, even though it's nearly noon.

Mark's tongue sticks in his throat before he remembers how to form words again. "Can we talk?" he asks, too quickly. He backtracks. "I mean, um. I'm sorry?"

He winces. That wasn't supposed to come out.

Eduardo's expression is impassive. His gaze flickers away from Mark, before he says, "Let's do this inside." He turns around and heads back toward the building. He doesn't glance back, but Mark hurriedly follows him, shutting the door behind them.

They get to Eduardo's apartment, Mark awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet as Eduardo gets the door open. Mark walks in after him. He immediately avoids the kitchen, choosing to stand in the middle of the living room instead.

Eduardo hasn't even turned to face him when Mark opens his mouth. "I'm sorry," he blurts out, the words ringing and falling from his mouth. "I'm sorry I didn't—that I didn't tell you about California, that you felt left behind, for everything—"

Eduardo laughs. It is not a real laugh, and he says, "Is that what you thought I wanted to hear?"

"No," Mark says quickly, because he will not fuck this up this time. It is not just Eduardo's fault, he knows; but it is not just his, either. "I don't—Wardo, I meant what I said last time."

Eduardo looks at him this time. "What did you say last time?" he asks. Mark can't read his eyes.

"That I love you." Mark does his best not to stumble. He says it again. "I love you. Still. I—thought it was obvious, but I don't—" He swallows. "I don't want to leave you behind."

Eduardo turns to face him properly. His expression is blank, and Mark hates this; Eduardo used to be so easy to read.

"Are you not going to California?" Eduardo asks.

"No—yes," Mark says. "Wait, listen," he adds, as Eduardo starts. "I don't—facebook is my thing, but you're my—thing, too. I don't want—I'm not picking between you two. I want and I intend to keep both."

"I suppose I should thank you for the consideration," Eduardo says dryly.

Mark scowls, though he quickly pushes it aside, moving on. "That's not what I—" he licks his lips, thinking.

"You know the summer, when you told me, you felt like you were doing something wrong, during your internship, not knowing what you're doing?" he says. "That's what I—you didn't know for sure you were doing something wrong because you were scared of the future and—I am too. For us, I mean. But I don't think that I'm doing something wrong with you. That  _we're_  doing something wrong," he says, because Eduardo's face is still and emotionless.

"I don't," Mark says, "I don't like this. Not being with you. That's when I—I _know_ I'm not doing the right thing. I know being without you is wrong, and being with you is just as scary, but—but all these past weeks, without you, has been—"

"Then what do you think California's going to be like?" Eduardo interrupts.

Mark winces. He hasn't figured that out yet either. "I know," Mark says. "It's—terrifying. I still—I need you, Wardo. I meant everything I said last time."

"Then why—"

"I can live," Mark pushes on, because even though Eduardo's expression is clearing, there is—more. Mark needs to keep going. "I can probably live without you. But I don't  _want_  to. I  _want_  you to be out there with me, and I'm not asking you to pick California after you graduate, or whatever, and maybe we'll do long distance for the rest of our lives, or—or something." Mark doesn't know where that came from, and it's better than nothing, but he'd rather not, so he continues. "But I'm not—I've never been trying to break up with you, Wardo, or leave you behind, or whatever."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a cold fear grapples at Mark's chest. What if everything Eduardo had said about thinking Mark wanting to break up with him was just Eduardo projecting his own desires? What if he wanted to break up with Mark and was waiting for a moment to make Mark the bad guy? What if Eduardo wants him gone, is waiting until graduation, until—

Eduardo is staring at him hard. His mouth is curved downward; his eyes are raw and red and he says, "I—Mark—I want to believe, you, but—"

"I want you to," says Mark. He half wishes Eduardo hadn't come down, so he could yell it all and let it all out, from every nerve ending in his body. "You're my—my best friend, and my boyfriend, and I want to stay with you for—for a long time."

The words come rushing out and echo in his ears. Mark feels his face turn red and glances away, but he doesn't want to take his words back. He doesn't. It's all true—he needs Eduardo to understand that.

Eduardo inhales sharply, like a gasp. Mark lifts his head up to see Eduardo has turned back around, his shoulders shaking, shuddering. What feels like a million tiny shards of glass pierces Mark's chest; he wants to go over and hug Eduardo, but it's a ridiculous urge and Eduardo might push him away, so he doesn't.

Eduardo's voice is thick when he speaks. "I don't know what I'm doing after graduation either," he says. "My parents already have a job for me, at the internship, but I'm not sure if I want to—" He breaks off, and Mark wishes he could see his face. "And I submitted applications for grad schools, but I'm still not—"

Mark's chest sinks; he wishes Eduardo had told him this earlier. He knows that he probably wouldn't have cared much at the time, especially with facebook happening, but—he doesn't know what to do with this information, Eduardo's future less certain than his own.

Eduardo turns around. His eyes are wet.

"I love you too," he says to Mark, and he sounds absolutely wrecked and Mark bites his lip from doing something stupid. "I really—I want to be with you for a long time, Mark. I want us to be okay. I want you to change the world with facebook, and I want to have you, and I want to be okay."

Mark chokes a little and his eyes feel hot and he says, "I want all that too."

"Yeah?" Eduardo says. His lips are lifting up, in the beginnings of a smile.

"I don't—Wardo—" Mark thinks about stepping closer, but there is still the cold fear of Eduardo pushing him away, even though— "I've just, I miss you," he says, the past weeks of being but not  _being_  coming back to him. "I know it hasn't been that long, but—"

"It's been hell, I know." Eduardo smiles crookedly. "I missed you too."

Mark takes one step forward, and it's all they need. Eduardo closes the rest of the space like that is them, since they first met, since they started dating. Mark tilts his chin up by centimeters. Eduardo is a foot away from him, still red-eyed, but still smiling.

"We made it through the summer," Mark finds himself saying. "The summer was longer."

Eduardo laughs haphazardly. "It was, wasn't it?" he says.

He takes Mark's hands, turning them over in his fingers. Neither of them looks down, but Mark marvels at the feeling of Eduardo's hands, warm on his again.

"The future is terrifying," Eduardo says to Mark, in an agreement.

Mark shrugs, off-handed. "It won't be that bad," he says, and the grin he gets in return, present and assured and happy, is better than being on top of the world.

Eduardo kisses Mark firmly, and it doesn't throw Mark off at all. His lips are a little dry and his eyes are closed, and Mark's are open, watching, kissing back, memorizing all this. Memorizing Eduardo's eyelashes fluttering against his own, the gentle press of his mouth against Mark's as he rolls Mark's fingers between his own, wrinkled collared shirt and silk pajama pants dancing at the edge of Mark's fingertips. Mark watches it all and files it away in his mind, in a box with code and afternoon naps on living room floors, marked with  _these are the things I love_.

They fuck slowly in Eduardo's bedroom and come entirely too quickly, Mark riding down on Eduardo, whose eyes are shining and he's whispering, "I missed this." Mark missed this too, and maybe a few tears leak out, but Eduardo kisses them away and smiles and doesn't say anything, just watches Mark with such intensity that Mark nearly comes without touching himself.

It feels like centuries and milliseconds are passing, being joined with Eduardo again, not thinking about the future, or the past, but Eduardo inside him warm and full that Mark only barely comes first. "I love you," Mark murmurs again, and Eduardo gasps and spills inside him, trembling so hard that Mark holds him.

The moments after feel like a daze of euphoria as Eduardo pulls out but not away, shifting up and around to clean them both before tucking himself behind Mark, drawing circles into his skin. He starts talking about his Thanksgiving break, and then they're talking about what they've been up to for the last month or so. Mark tells him about California getting leaked, and the interviews that followed, and about Sean Parker, but Eduardo is good-natured about it.

"Birds of a feather," he says, making Mark turn around in his arms to look at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing, nothing," Eduardo says lightly, though with a smirk so Mark lets it go. "I still like you, though."

"Ugh," Mark says, but his faux-frown is ineffective as he buries himself closer to Eduardo.

Eduardo talks about his thesis and grad school apps, which Mark doesn't really care about but listens to him anyway. When somehow the conversation ends up about the weather, Eduardo sounds more excited as he talks about the forecast for winter break. Mark still doesn't care, but he likes this, and listens some more.

They get hungry so Eduardo makes them lunch. And there's a moment when Mark is staring at his box of Cocoa Puffs and Eduardo hesitates over his silverware drawer, but then he says, "You better eat those before they get stale," and Mark mocks him for hating how much sugar is in his cereal, so that's okay.

While Mark is in the middle of lifting a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, Dustin texts him,  _Are you alive???_  Mark snorts.

"We should probably go back and let Dustin and Chris know we're okay," he says, as Eduardo moves around his kitchen, still cooking. He'd apparently gotten better at a dish over the past few weeks and is eager to show Mark.

Eduardo looks up, raising his eyebrows. "Are you sure they won't want to maul me on your behalf?" he asks.

Mark snorts. "They'd probably rather fight for your honor instead."

So after lunch, they go. Erica is incidentally there, vandalizing Mark's graffiti some more, though she squeaks when he and Eduardo come in. She runs and hugs Eduardo, throwing them both off. Eduardo laughs and pats her back.

"Oh, thank goodness you're back," Erica says, pulling away. "Mark's been torturing us for weeks."

Mark scowls. "I have not."

"You have," says Chris, from his computer. "Do I need to remind you of the interview with the Northwestern Press?"

Eduardo laughs again as they all greet him, before he and Mark head to Mark's room, leaving the door open. Erica and Chris are back to outlining goals for the summer on the whiteboard for facebook, while Dustin curses loudly while fixing the bug he had found this morning. Mark would join either one of them, but he knows they would want him to stay with Eduardo, so he glances up at them over his netbook and pauses.

Like he's read Mark's mind, Eduardo says, "All of us should have dinner at my apartment tonight."

"And suffer your penchant for hot sauce?" Mark says, smirking at him.

"Erica could totally take it," Eduardo says confidently.

Erica can't take the hot sauce, but Chris does like a champ. Dustin bemoans across the table at how Chris is totally faking it, even though only Chris's cheeks are pink and his glass of water is still half full.

Eduardo elbows Mark. "See?" he says.

"Your money was on Erica," Mark points out.

Erica nearly spits out the water she's glugging down. "You put money on me?" she says to Eduardo, looking torn between amused and offended.

Eduardo shrugs. "Mark said you couldn't," he says.

Mark kicks him under the table and Erica goes, " _Mark_." She pretends to pour her water on him until she actually does, then Mark is wet and complaining while Dustin says he looks like a dog and Chris is laughing and Eduardo is handing him a towel, trying not to look amused and failing.

Mark stays over at Eduardo's that night, because it's been too long. They say goodbye to the others and then later they're in bed, Mark curled up against him once more, Eduardo kissing down his neck without any heat. Mark hums and they fall asleep like that, Eduardo's nose pressed against the back of Mark's t-shirt collar.

***

It feels slower, but also surer, the careful way Eduardo wakes up in the morning and tangles their fingers together and Mark just watches. Mark has to go out and get to work so Eduardo walks him and kisses him big and steady on the front steps of the library, just like the first time. He says goodbye and Mark turns around, heading into work and feeling happy.

Mark doesn't think he worries too much; he's not a worrier, his mother would say, though neither is she or the rest of his family. But having this with Eduardo, holding his hand on walks back to Kirkland or waiting for him outside the Yard, this is the sort of thing that Mark can't imagine going away, slipping through his fingers. He does not worry about the future, or facebook, or much else. But he doesn't know how to see the steps that follow, and knows that he has to make a choice.

He talks to Erica first, and then Chris, and then Dustin (and he'll never say it out loud but Dustin is last because his judgment about facebook, to Mark, comes first.) Then he goes to Student Legal and gets the papers drawn up, because it is a week later and Mark and Dustin have been pretending not to email each other at work about potential houses in California, for the summer; because Sean Parker has gotten them on  _three continents_  and is in Palo Alto and is crashing at a girlfriend's until the summer; because finals week is next week and then it's winter recess and Mark can't wait that long.

He shows up at Eduardo's front door a Tuesday later, without his bag or laptop, just a manila envelope in his hands. His fingers flex and twitch. The door opens.

"Mark." Eduardo looks surprised, beaming, shirt half-buttoned on his chest. "What are you—"

"Here," says Mark, shoving the envelope into Eduardo's hands. "I don't—I meant to ask you this earlier, but I know it would've probably given you the wrong idea, but I've been—facebook needs a CFO, and I've been thinking of having you as a CFO for a long time, and Erica and Dustin and Chris were stupid about it, but they were also—and, uh, facebook needs a CFO, and you're an economics major, and know business models and whatever, so."

He's blabbering. He's blabbering and he can't stop and he is mostly talking to his feet. Eduardo is probably staring at him. Mark's yanks his hands back and stuffs them into his pocket.

"You don't have to take it, and you can say no, and I'm not trying to make you pick between having your own future and me and facebook, but I really want you to—I mean, it's not about California, obviously, I think you could be good for it, and there's graduation, and you don't have to say yes right away, or—or at all, like I said, I mean, Chris said that he doesn't want to work for facebook his whole life too, so you don't have to—it's not a life changing decision. I mean, it is. It can be."

Mark clears his throat, and his cheeks are burning. "You can get your lawyers to read over it," he says, still not looking at Eduardo. "If you have lawyers. And you don't—you don't have to say yes, or right away, just—just think about it, okay."

It comes off sounding more like a command than a question. Mark's face gets even hotter and he turns on his heels, high-tailing it out of there before Eduardo can say something or Mark can get a good look at him.

Eduardo calls Mark a minute later, and Mark halts in the middle of the street. He fidgets, staring at the caller ID before he picks up.

"Mark," Eduardo says. He sounds amused. "What was all that?"

Mark huffs, face warm again. "Didn't you hear anything I said—"

"You didn't let me get a word in."

"I wanted to say what I had to say," Mark says. The heat is creeping up his cheeks. "And then I got embarrassed."

"Evidently." The smile is still in Eduardo's tone.

"I'm, um, flattered," he says to Mark.

Mark's chest sinks. He's going to say no—

"And I know that you're not trying to make me pick facebook over my career," says Eduardo. "I think so, anyway. And you're right, I do have to graduate."

"Is there a point you're trying to make with that?"

Eduardo laughs, the best sound in the world. "Sorry," he says. "I just—I wanted to let you know that I haven't said no yet, and that I'll—I'll think about it, okay? Is that—"

"That's fine," says Mark, adrenaline rushing to his throat again. "That's great, that's really—that's good."

"I'll give you an answer before I graduate," Eduardo says, and for Mark, that's good enough.

***

Winter recess comes and goes. They don't call and text each other every day, though it comes close, and the phone sex is just as good, possibly better, than it was in the summer. One time when Mark is monitoring facebook and eating a cup of yogurt in the kitchen, his dad asks him about Eduardo and how they met. Mark tells him about seeing Eduardo at work, and later when he's in his room and selecting Eduardo's name off his list of recent calls, he tells Eduardo this.

Eduardo listens through the story, chuckling when he's done. "I don't even remember that day you did the head counts," he says. "But my story's a bit different though."

"Is it?" Mark says, grinning in the darkness of his room.

He can hear the affection Eduardo's voice. "It started on the second day junior year, when I came into Widener for a quiet place to study and saw a cute guy at the front desk cursing out his coworker. I didn't think he would ever give me a time of day, but he did."

Mark's heart thumps erratically. He says, "Did you just call me _cute_?"

"Oh, fuck off," Eduardo laughs. "It took you weeks to ask me out."

"That's more than I can say about you," Mark says.

"Well, I like my story better."

"That's because mine started with me making fun of your reading choices."

There's a comfortable silence between them, punctuated by Mark patching up a bug and smiling to himself. Eduardo is smiling, too; Mark doesn't have to see it to know it.

Eduardo lets out a low exhale on the other end. "Can you believe it's been a whole year?" he says.

"It hasn't yet," Mark reminds him.

***

But a few weeks later, it has been—since their first lunch date, anyway, when Mark half-expects Eduardo to be sentimental and take them back to that sushi place. Instead Eduardo fucks him on the couch and there are blindfolds involved, so it's even better.

And then after that, it's spring semester and Mark and Dustin and Erica and Chris are really buying out a house in California, which has a pool and Mark doesn't buy a trampoline, though he tells Erica that if she really wants it that much,  _she_  can blow her money on it. Erica says that he hadn't gotten her anything for her birthday though and half-takes it back when Mark does pull up a web search for trampolines on his laptop, until he tells her that he was just joking and he's not going to buy a trampoline for her. She punches him on the arm.

Facebook is on three continents including the United States and the Kirkland dorm isn't big enough. But Eduardo is here and he's graduating in May; so to make himself and the rest of them be patient, Mark stays. It's only one semester, and Mark is having fun pissing his teachers off by scraping by on work and using facebook as an excuse, and then Sean, from all the way in Palo Alto, asks if he can set up meetings with venture capitalists and Mark figures it couldn't hurt, so he says sure.

It is February and Mark and Eduardo don't do anything on their anniversary (neither of them can remember the date, anyway) except eat a medium-well done steak that Eduardo meant to cook medium-rare, and then fuck in Eduardo's bedroom, and then shower later. They fall asleep and wake up and a week later when it's Valentine's day, they go at it again, and it's similar in all the right places, and different.

Sean Parker sets up meetings in California for Mark's spring break, where he can check out the house they're renting and also make the meetings with the VCs. Mark and Dustin and Erica and Chris are gathered in their suite's living room on a windy day in March, talking about when they should hold interviews for any potential interns, when there is a knock at their door.

"I'll get it," Mark says, because Eduardo had texted him about coming by earlier.

And it is him, smiling on the other side of the door when Mark opens it. "Hey," Eduardo says, waving a little to the others behind him. One of Eduardo's hands is tucked into his jacket pocket. "Wanna talk to me alone for a minute?"

Mark nods, bouncing on his feet. "Sure," he says. "Just let me get my—"

"Jacket!" Erica calls, throwing it at him from the couch.

Mark rolls his eyes as he catches it. "That too," he says, grabbing his keys off the mantelpiece.

"Don't want you getting pneumonia," Erica says from behind him.

"She's right," Eduardo says pointedly.

Mark elbows him and they both grin.

They walk out of Kirkland, starting down the sidewalk. The ground is still covered with patches of white; Eduardo had said without looking at the weather forecast earlier that it's supposed to snow this weekend.

"So," Mark says, once they've started down the street. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Eduardo is quiet for a minute.

"I want to accept your offer for being facebook's CFO," he says.

When Mark starts, he adds, "Tentatively. It's tentative." He's smiling. "But I do—I want to say yes, and I looked over the papers, and I—yeah, I do."

"That's great," Mark breathes, turning to him. "Wardo, that's—"

"Out of all the possible plans to have after graduation," Eduardo says, "I think this is the one that I like the idea of most. And I want the most." He grins. "Plus, you'll actually let me put money into it."

Mark scoffs. "Of course I will," he says. "That'll be all on you now. I don't have to worry about it anymore."

Eduardo bumps his hip against his, and stays there.

"I already told my supervisor I'm leaving after this semester," says Mark. "Dustin, too. But Chris and Erica are coming back up here to finish their degrees, or whatever." He waves his hand.

"Oh!" Eduardo says, lighting up. "I'll be the first facebook employee to have one, won't I?"

Mark looks up thoughtfully. "Sean never graduated college, did he?"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't graduate  _high school_ , Mark."

Mark glances at him. Snow has begun to fall; Eduardo's ridiculous gelled hair is getting littered with the cold white dust, and he is possibly the best thing in the world Mark's ever had, including even against facebook.

"You were right," Mark says, gesturing up at the clouds and trees above them. "It's snowing. I can't believe I'm dating a nerd."

Eduardo laughs, pulling Mark in close until he's inches away.

"Yeah," he says, breath warm against Mark's lips. "I love you too."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

**CODA**

"You really think this is a good idea?"

"Compared to what we could be doing otherwise, yeah," says Mark, spinning when they're in a dark enough part of the stacks so no one will find them. It's the middle of the day and Mark isn't even on shift this time, though he won't mind too terribly if they got caught. Or banned. Unless Chris or Erica catch wind of it.

"I know you're smart," Eduardo says, as Mark tugs him closer to him, "but maybe you haven't heard that once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and three times—"

Mark silences him with a kiss; somehow that makes Eduardo's hand slip up his shirt, despite Eduardo's protests. "It's not like the first time we did this was an accident," Mark points out, thigh pressed against his, as Eduardo rucks his shirt up with his thumb knuckle. "And thank you for calling me smart."

Eduardo rolls his eyes, but kisses Mark back. "You better not bring this newfound exhibitionist streak with us to California," he warns.

"You started it," Mark points out, and pushes his mouth on Eduardo's again.

Eduardo's hands are cold on his warm stomach, rubbing circles into his skin. Mark sighs into his mouth as Eduardo's palm ghosts over his ribs, pinches at his sides, tender and hot all at once. Mark licks into Eduardo with everything that he has.

"Tomorrow," he murmurs against him.

Eduardo's smile is blinding in the small space between their faces. "Tomorrow," he agrees.

"Do you think Peter Thiel would buy us a new mattress if we ruined it on the first day?"

Eduardo laughs into his neck. "Please don't talk about other men when we're about to fuck," he says.

Mark brings his hand to the back of Eduardo's head to look at him properly. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

Today they get their pants down, grinning at each other, though Mark realizes he'd forgotten the lube and there's no way they're going to finger each other open with just spit. So they grind against each other between the bookshelves, instead, wet squelching noises with enough spit, giggling and stopping every once in a while when they think they hear someone walk by. Mark rolls his hips, cock between Eduardo's damp fingers, hot in his fist. He rubs the precome of Eduardo's cock over the tip, and bucking into him when Eduardo reaches around and squeezes Mark's ass.

Eduardo complains, breathy against Mark's ear, "I didn't graduate from Harvard to get banned a day later."

"And I didn't work here to find good places to fuck," Mark says, "but here we are." He twists his hand and tightens his grip. Eduardo swears.

They both come, nearly simultaneous, half-laughing still and breathless. Eduardo at least had brought tissues, and they clean themselves off. Eduardo dabs at a spot on Mark's shirt that he'd missed.

"Can you believe that we have half a million dollars?" he says to Mark, tugging at one of Mark's curls.

Mark bats his hand away. "Without your help," he says, though he's smiling.

"I think I helped a little," Eduardo says; he'd gone to all the meetings with Mark and Sean, and even though he doesn't like Sean any more than he used to, he at least doesn't act like it. "And now we have a real house to live in."

"With Dustin and Sean."

"With Dustin and Sean." But Eduardo had been the one to invest in the house, and had said yes when Mark had mentioned that Sean was homeless and needed a place to crash, and he smiles like he doesn't mind at all.

They walk back out to clear blue skies, afterward. Eduardo's hand grabs for Mark's once they're back outside, under the bright and colorful sunshine. So much has changed in so little time; so much has stayed the same, too.

"All packed for tomorrow?" Eduardo asks.

"What do you think the answer is?"

Eduardo scoffs and squeezes Mark's hand. "I guess you need my help then?"

"If you want to help," Mark says airily.

Eduardo laughs and kisses him on the mouth. They are in the open space of the Harvard Yard, and then they will be in Kirkland, and the T, and the airport and airplane and California. It's sunny and still cool enough to be called spring, but summer is around the corner and so is the future—with Eduardo and facebook.

As they pull apart once more, the smile on Eduardo's face is so big that Mark can see all the possibilities, with Eduardo, with _them_. He doesn't know what will come about, but he hopes it's something just as great as he is, as they are.

But right now, Eduardo's hand is tangled in his and there's a promise of pizza for dinner and Mark's not really thinking about tomorrow. Because this very moment, and all the moments to come, are not just as good as what Mark has dreamed of—they are better.


End file.
